Is It Scary
by IDOL HANDS
Summary: An exploration of magic, the future of the Buckets, and the growing intimacy between the mysterious chocolatier and his young heir. Things seem dark when we do not understand them, but even Willy Wonka has fears that he needs to face. SLASH, chan, lemons
1. Volume 1

**Title:** Is It Scary, Volume I

**By:** IDOL HANDS

**Rating:** PG (for dramatic themes but I will build to M)

**Warnings:** I'm headed somewhere with this, don't expect it to stay tame. SLASH! It will deal with 'chan' or 'shota' which means an explicit under-aged relationship. DO NOT READ if that offends you, but I do try to be methodical about my methods.

**Disclaimer:** The characters portrayed are not my property but that of the estate of R. Dahl, Tim Burton, Freddie Highmore, Deep Roy, and the ever lovin' Johnny Depp.

**Summary:** This will draw upon BOTH movies and the original book. An exploration of magic through old Paganism, the future of the Buckets, and the growing intimacy between the mysterious chocolatier and his young heir. Many things seem dark when we do not understand them, but even Willy Wonka has fears that he needs to face.

**This volume:** Mr. Wonka decides to ask Charlie a question; one that has been nagging his conscience. His young heir's reply is not what he expected.

"**The time has come my friends to talk of many things"**

It was a typical day in Mr. Wonka's sprawling chocolate factory. The Oompa-loompas were busy at work. The Bucket's dilapidated, yet mysteriously sturdy, abode was bustling with new activity. And a short distance away relaxed the luckiest boy in the entire world; the winner of the 5th golden ticket and the heir to the entire eatible empire.

Mr. Wonka had instructed his tiny workers, no bigger than his knee, to busy themselves elsewhere for the day. So, the Chocolate Room had been unusually peaceful. Only the intermittent sound of the automatic suction devices could be heard over the dull roar of the immense chocolate waterfall. Not much time had passed since the large family had been moved in, just enough for Wonka to further ponder the implications these recent changes had created in his previously routine life.

"Charlie!" Chirped the enigmatic chocolate maker. He was often seen traipsing towards his heir with great enthusiasm. Today he was no less energetic, but he had something rather important on his mind. His pale face was plastered with a serious intent. The look only accented by the tall top hat that endowed him with undeniable authority.

The pale, slender English boy looked up from his book, his face delighted to see Mr. Wonka. Despite his mentor having offered him new clothes, he had clung to the old, patterned sweater and worn-out pants that his family had provided. After all, he was still the same Charlie Bucket: still modest, shy, and polite. Why should his clothes change? The child had been leaning against a tree whose bark smelled like spearmint, sugar, and vanilla. Its blooms were all marshmallows, dense puffs in tones of white and pink. The horticulture marvel served to support the child and impart him with a clean and sweet fragrance.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I've disturbed you." The chocolatier stated. Charlie appeared to be reading one of the books from his library, Alice in Wonderland. It was one of Willy Wonka's personal favorites. He had that volume bound in burgundy leather with real gold type on the cover. The original illustrations were in tact along with many, many more. All printed on the finest paper and in richly colored inks. He was glad to see that the boy had started to use the small set of keys that he had given him: especially the one that accessed part of his personal quarters. He was afraid to ask the boy to get closer to him, the best he could do was encourage it.

"No, it's OK, I'm having a hard time concentrating anyway." The boy's blue-green eyes met Mr. Wonka's twinkling purple ones, which appeared a tad blue at the moment. How the man's eyes could seem dark and bright at the same time always perplexed the youth. There was something definitely special about those eyes alone, even without his other features to consider. He had heard people use the expression, "Eyes are the windows to the soul." If that were true, than what did Willy Wonka's eyes say about him?

"Yeah, that happens to me a lot too." Replied Wonka with a silly grin.

Mr. Wonka's smiles always had the most unusual effects on people, for he had the most unusual set of teeth. Each one was perfectly flat – not round, not pointed, just flat, all the way into his mouth. They were also perfectly white. Not regular white, they were like Rudolf the Reindeer's nose, 'one could even say they glowed' white. Along with the unique results created by his father's bizarre braces, was the distraction of his lips, which seemed forever stained a reddish hue. This made the gleam of his smile stand out even more and the shape of his perfectly shaped lips impossible to ignore. All of these elements combined made Mr. Wonka's smile capable of looking ethereally beautiful, or plastic, or even…quite wicked.

He had been momentarily distracted from his original purpose by the boy's charms. His small voice, his admiration, the swoop of his button nose, the way his ears stuck out without hair or a hat to cover them, even his crooked teeth. It was all so pure, so un-tainted. His mind wondered back to what had originally been concerning him, the contrast of the two of them. His concern that he could ruin this perfect child and that was the last thing that he wanted.

Willie Wonka really wanted to be a better person, especially for Charlie, but the truth was that he just wasn't. He never really was, even before his trust was completely broken in humanity. There was always a fear, a resentment, and a weight of isolation that other people caused him to feel. At Charlie's age, Willy was already a rebel and a hedonist. He still was.

Wonka thought to himself, "For Charlie's sake I have to be a better person."

But he had no idea how to do that. The universe itself seemed to cater to Mr. Willy Wonka, physics took a break and obeyed whatever laws were necessary to help the chocolatier make better and more incredible candy. Mr. Wonka himself did not appreciate this fact, for he was entirely unaware that they didn't already exist solely to do that in the first place. No, Willy had never had to change anything about himself for anyone. He had only recently made an exception for this little boy. He almost forgave his cruel father, the infamous dentist, Dr. Wonka for him! Why was this little person so special? What was driving him to change for someone after all this time?

Charlie was used to Mr. Wonka taking long pauses before speaking. His eyes and face would shift seamlessly through a myriad of expressions, all too brief to interpret accurately. The boy was desperate to understand how his new friend's mind worked, how he was able to create so many impossible things, what all those thoughts were. Sometimes he could grab them, reach into his psyche and pull them out, but this was not one of those times.

Mr. Wonka got a look on his face as if he had finally made up his mind as to what it was he wanted to say and leaned down into a squat position to talk to the boy. He used his cane like a pole for balance. The sprouting growth of the candy lawn (or "swudge", as the candyman had named it) interrupted his dark silhouette and tickled his fine velvet coat.

"Are you scared of me, Charlie?" Asked the man, a deathly serious tone to his voice.

Charlie was surprised by the question and his tone. He looked right into his iridescent lavender eyes.

"No." he answered reflexively. Then quickly looked away and swallowed.

Wonka sensed the pause and said nothing. Giving Charlie the same opportunity for deep thought that the boy had given him a moment ago. Fair was fair.

Charlie had been taught not to lie. And what he just said wasn't quite the truth, but he wanted to be polite. Plus, that was a very difficult question to answer at his tender age.

"Well…" He started again. Wonka stared intently, holding his breath for the rest. "Maybe a little."

Yes, that was closer to the truth, the child thought. There was always something about Mr. Wonka that captivated him; it was a confusing sensation, but a pleasant one. He still wasn't happy with his statement and turned to meet his benefactor's jewel-like eyes again. The man's face and posture was completely frozen. He could have been a grand statue placed to stand forever in guardianship of the sprawling artificial park.

"But I like it." The boy added after a few seconds. His voice was quiet, his eyes like that of a gentle woodland creature that has been drawn to an immense mythical dragon.

It was what the chocolatier had said about his grandparents smelling like "old people and soap". He had exclaimed, "I like it!" That was what made Charlie realize that those were the right words to use, strange as they were. Clearly no one would like someone to smell like old people and soap, but if that smell reminded you of love and a sense of feeling welcome, then that fragrance, no matter how humble, became a pleasant one to you. It was how Charlie felt about the way Willy Wonka made him feel. He was a little frightened, but he liked it. Yes, that was it.

Wonka's large eyes had flicked open slightly wider at this comment. No other part of his serious face had changed.

Charlie worried that he had said something wrong, but he had to be truthful. His honesty was one of the reasons the great man had chosen him to inherit the enormous factory and all that it contained.

Something tingled deep inside Mr. Wonka. His heart had skipped a beat at that last statement. No one had ever said that to him. He replayed the image in his mind: the appearance of those innocent features saying that, the way his eyelashes pressed upward, the gentle roundness of his cheeks, the appeal of his accent. It was startling and wonderful. He liked it.

"Thank you, Charlie." The elegantly dressed man finally managed to say. He stood up; something seemed to be wrong with his eyes. They were getting watery. He looked down at Charlie who gave him a sweet smile in return, revealing his dimples. The boy felt reassured that he hadn't said anything wrong. Wonka repeated it once more, "Thank you." The child-like quality of his voice had momentarily left him and it was a true man's voice that Charlie heard just then. He liked that voice. He was the only one who ever heard it. Mr. Wonka wasn't hiding who he was. He just was many things all at once: a child and a man, a genius and a fool, an artist and a lunatic.

"O.K. then, I'll just let ya get back to what yer reading." He said shakily, ending with a quirky smile. Wonka started to walk slowly from his young heir, allowing him to return to the tale of Alice lost in the madness of Wonderland.

His hand shook a little as he limped his way through the winding and permeable surface of the Chocolate Room. The cane wasn't of much help to him with such a poor grip. Willy was going to need to sit and think about this incident some more. Alone.

"He likes it." He muttered to himself in awe.

Yes indeed, this changed things quite a bit.

**Author's Notes: **

"**Is It Scary" is a song by Michael Jackson off of his "Blood On the Dance Floor" album. I highly recommend the album and listening to that song to get a deeper understanding of the inspiration behind this story as well as behind Mr. Jackson himself. If you are a misunderstood, creative person then you may also have experienced such things. "Ben" and this song are my two favorite songs by Michael based on lyrics and melody.**

"**The time has come my friends to talk of many things" is a quote from the famous book, Alice in Wonderland by Lewis Carroll. I pulled a lot of allegories and inspiration from the tale. I believe you will agree that these two universes blend together like peanut butter and chocolate. **

**If 'chan' or 'shota' is not your cup of tea, please realize that I myself never expected to write such a tale. This has been as shocking an experience to me as it may become to any of you, but I did want to explore the theme for the sake of all the prosecution that such individuals face. If continue with me, you may find the history of it as interesting as I did. **


	2. Volume 2

**Title:** Is It Scary, volume II

**By:** IDOL HANDS

**Rating:** PG (currently, but it will rise considerably)

**Warnings:** I'm headed somewhere with this, don't expect it to stay tame. SLASH, chan, shota, dark themes combined with sweet ones, alternate or traditional Paganism, Oompa-loompas, and all the Buckets will be involved in this novel-length fiction. I promise to break it into tasty bite-sized pieces.

**Disclaimer:** The characters portrayed are not my property but that of the estate of R. Dahl, Tim Burton, Freddie Highmore and Johnny Depp.

**Summary:** A study of Mr. Wonka's mind after he asked Charlie the important question, "Do I scare you?" Some insights and explanations as to the make-up of the mysterious man, but for the chocolatier there are only unanswered questions.

"**And as in uffish thought he stood"**

Normally Mr. Wonka couldn't stand to be touched. He wasn't sure why, he just was extremely sensitive and felt compelled to avoid human contact at all cost. He had accomplished separating himself off from the outside world in many ways. Most notably, and early in his life, by using every device known to fashion: layers of plush jackets, long coats, complex vests, high-collared and long-cuffed shirts, form-fitted gloves (the tighter, the better), tailored pants, and then there were his shoes. Many men couldn't pull off high-heeled boots, but Willy Wonka, despite a limp, exhibited them with utmost style. Those emblazoned shoes put him a few more inches above the filth of floors and lifted him a little higher above the drain of reality.

A decade or so ago, he had noticed that his face could be hidden a little further with the use of long hair. Still, he needed it to be neat and not too long. The fastidious Oompa-loompa who had the task and privilege of being Willy Wonka's barber selected a sleek bob. For on that fateful day, while searching through the confectioner's library for inspiration, the small man ran across the tale of Prince Valiant. Based on the illustrations and his admiration for the man who saved his entire civilization, the cut seemed quite apropos to him. Even more, the shape would look well with the signature top hat; the short, jagged bangs hidden, the angled length covering the last bit of tender skin exposed from his shoulders to his ears. Mr. Wonka was quite pleased with it indeed and wore the ancient style ever since!

Hats had also furthered his efforts in shielding himself from people. Sunglasses proved far too revealing in Willy's opinion; one could easily see into the sides and top of the lenses. The telltale windows to one's soul and less-than-amiable thoughts exposed from the right angles. No, that would not do. And so his custom large, yet stylish, goggle glasses were developed. The man's entire appearance was as methodically thought out as his confections.

However, The great Willy Wonka's entire elaborate wardrobe was nothing compared to his factory! This was his best defense in shielding himself from the cruelty of the outside world. An immense cement factory nestled deeply inside towering iron gates. The factory's soaring chimney structures stretched up, as close to the sky as architecture would allow: perfuming the entire town in the sweet fragrances and musky temptation of his magical treats. This was more reward than the sad, little town deserved; a town that had once sent spies into his very home! He had trusted them, cared for them, even improved the quality of their lives in everyway he could fathom. Yet, those same people betrayed him, they mocked his oddities and the efforts of his life's work; snatching away his pride and candy like greedy, selfish, vile little children. The whole experience had changed Mr. Wonka quite a bit; the smaller part of his kind soul that was rebellious and hedonistic started to grow and seethe. In order to avoid going mad from dark thoughts and depression, he chose to escape his factory, go exploring for something, anything! New flavors for candy would do! At that time he honestly wasn't sure that he wanted to make candy anymore, but it was all that he really knew how to do. So, he pushed onward into the strange lands that his father had told him about when he was young. Well-armed and uncertain, he left the factory in a somewhat self-destructive mode. He wasn't sure if he did care what happened to him and a lot of things did. Nothing cared for him and he cared for no one either. If he hadn't found the Oompa-loompas there's no telling where he would have ended up; it was like he had been deliberately testing his limits, deliberately putting himself into harms way.

Oompa-loompas were smart, clever, and devoted; the people's small hands and eyes made them ideal for the kind of painstaking, detail-oriented work that Mr. Wonka's creations demanded. Further, the small people were of great comfort and distraction to the confectioner; they deeply understood pain and fear. They had lived their lives in fear of all the horrendous creatures that looked to consume them every day, constantly losing loved ones to the awful beasts, until their savior appeared and splayed them in one sure stroke of his giant blades. Another endearing quality was that they never made fun of Willy; none of his actions or ideas seemed strange to them. Instead, they eagerly fulfilled his every request to the utmost of their abilities. They thrived on it! And Willy Wonka thrived on them for many, many years. It hardly crossed his mind that they were not like the many other people outside of his factory. Only sometimes when he was completely alone. Like now.

The world famous chocolatier had stood completely alone inside his personal quarters for quite some time now. The chocolatier's room was filled with objects of ancient dreams and impossible adventures, with things that should never have existed, with luxury and technologies that had yet to be invented. There he pondered in the dark: among all of that wonder, looking at none of it, for his mind was on something far more unusual...his heart. Mr. Wonka had been deeply in thought since the last time he had seen his heir, under a marshmallow tree, reading his personal edition of, "Alice in Wonderland".

Initially he had chosen the boy simply because, in the chocolatier's own words, Charlie was "the least rotten" of the five who had won the notorious Golden Tickets. Then it turned into something more when the boy turned down Mr. Wonka's magnificent offer in favor of his impoverished family. After a bit of time and great suffering, Mr. Wonka realized that he needed that particular little boy just to continue to be happy. So, he would do anything to be near him again, anything: including seeing his own ferocious father for the first time in countless decades, including allowing the entire boisterous Bucket household to move in.

He was somewhat glad he had done those things, for there was more: Charlie Bucket turned out to be the one person in the whole wide world whom he didn't mind touching him! He didn't gasp or recoil in horror when the child deliberately or accidentally came into contact. At times Mr. Wonka forgot every one of his own phobias and even initiated it himself. Unlike the obnoxious Mike TeeVee, Charlie also did not recoil in horror, in turn. The chocolatier often recalled that compulsion he had felt to grab the frail child's hand when he realized that all the others were gone. That this innocent, insightful, impressionable person could be all his now! He could never explain how much that moment had meant to him, nor how much it hurt to have it ripped away when the child turned him down.

Enjoying being touched for the first time in his entire long life was pleasant and strange. More contact had caused more intense sensations. Why? What were they? He didn't know. What he did know was that he wanted to get to know his Charlie, or rather his pupil, better. Charlie wasn't his, not really, the child's entire family living in his castle-like abode reminded him of that stinging fact everyday. There was another weird sensation after he had that thought. What was that one? Being in close contact with regular people for the first time in his life since he was a child was causing a lot of new sensations to surface. They were those pesky, unpredictable things called "emotions". It wasn't Willy's fault that he didn't understand most of the needless things. After all, he was an expert in chocolate, not feelings. There were times when he simply turned them off; ceased to feel anything at all. That was better than feeling all the pain. But now, he didn't want to turn off the nice ones that had started to happen at the same time. It was a conundrum, why the good ones had to come with the bad ones. He resolved that he simply was going to have to deal with things this time. For he had made up his mind: The time had come! Willy Wonka was finally ready to expose himself to someone. To the very someone who saw the parts of his soul that were strange and simply said, "But I like it."

While entranced in his thoughts, Mr. Wonka twirled between his dexterous fingers a small metallic object. In spite of its size, it was vastly important. Just like Charlie himself, he mused…

**Author's Notes:**

"**And as in uffish thought he stood" is a line from the poem "The Jabberwocky" contained inside Lewis Carroll's classic story, Alice Through the Looking Glass. If you have never READ the actual tale, then I highly recommend it (particularly the annotated one) for Carroll's imagination easily rivals Willy Wonka's and Roald Dahl's. I'm happy to add him to my collection of 'mad hatters'.**

**Feedback is always appreciated, no matter how much time has surpassed. I even try to personally reply to much of my feedback since meeting people in this fandom has been my favorite element of creating lately. I like to read your reactions to the thoughts that keep me awake at night and asleep during the day, but mostly I am honored to entertain you.**

**If you would like a beautiful image of an angsty Wonka after he closed his factory, along with lots of other TERRIFIC Charie and the Chocolate Factory art, please check "MaRaMa-TSG" at Deviant Art. 'Kay?**


	3. Volume 3

**Title:** Is It Scary, volume III

**By:** IDOL HANDS

**Rating:** PG (dramatic themes that will build to higher ratings)

**Warnings:** It's novel-like: I'm exploring themes and working up the plot. Suggested & historical under-aged explicit homosexual relationships a.k.a. SLASH, "chan", or "shota".

**Disclaimer:** The characters portrayed are not my property but that of the estate of R. Dahl, Tim Burton, Freddie Highmore and Johnny Depp. However, I am going to start charging rent if they keep living inside my head!

**Summary:** Since the appetizer went down well, here's something to REALLY chew on... Charlie goes to seek out Mr. Wonka within the factory, but the chocolatier was already expecting him and has surprises in store. Also, insight into the boy and his family since they agreed to live inside of the factory. Now Wonka's heir is the one with questions!

**"Come to my arms my beamish boy"**

Charlie had finally finished reading the marvelous copy of Alice in Wonderland that he had borrowed from Mr. Wonka. He could have waited until the next day to return it, but he didn't want to. It was an excuse to go and try to find his idol that had run off earlier in the day. He smoothed out his raggedy corduroy pants, fussed at the frayed edges of a patch on one leg, and then went inside his familiar dilapidated cottage.

The child climbed up to his makeshift room; the floor partly made from an old door, the rest was no more than discarded planks of wood. The walls of his bedroom still bore the crayon illustrations of Mr. Wonka's factory and the five candybar wrappers that took him five entire years to acquire. Quickly, the boy removed his beat-up, sturdy book bag from the rusted nail that served as a hook, and slung it across his shoulders. Then carefully, he placed the beautiful leather-bound book inside. He climbed back down the small wooden ladder telling his mother that he wouldn't be gone too long. Besides, it was still a while until dinner.

Mrs. Bucket had her hands full at the moment. She was busy trying to create a new recipe out of the unnatural, yet tantalizing plants that now decorated their never-ending lawn. The boy watched her stick her index finger into a pot and lick a sticky, deep purple substance off it.

"All right Charlie, but don't get lost in the factory." Said his Mother gently.

She always said that. The rest of Charlie's family hadn't ventured much into Willy Wonka's enormous candy-making facility. Grandpa Joe was the only exception, however even he would not venture without guidance from the man himself.

Charlie was the bravest, or perhaps simply the most curious. No one could blame him. The factory was said to be his one day, so he'd best get busy exploring it! Still, his family would worry sometimes. Charlie could be gone for very long periods of time indeed, though it would seem that he always found the great chocolatier at some point. The boy usually brought him home for dinner or at least made mentions of him.

"I'll try!" Half-joked the Bucket child. After all, it was rather hard to promise such a thing.

Charlie entered the Great Glass Elevator and pressed the button for 'Literary Allusions' inside. That button lead to Mr. Wonka's amazing library. The transportation device immediately whooshed off sideways and the young boy laughed in delight of its speed.

Most of his family would be glad if they never put another foot in the impossible vehicle, but not Charlie, he loved the rush that it gave him! His heart beat faster and his mind would get dizzy trying to process all of the sights that flashed past him. It was at times like this that he believed he was closest to understanding how his idol's mind must work. He believed that Mr. Wonka's imagination was capable of moving even faster than the Great Glass Elevator itself!

Charlie waved to the busy Oompa-loompas all over the factory. He had been able to tell them apart recently and was trying to learn their language so that he could talk to them better. Most of the language was silent, but the yodel, which meant: "Summon" or "Come here" call was one of the loudest sounds that they made! It had seemed strange the first time the boy heard Mr. Wonka make that sharp, shrill noise, but he didn't laugh. That would've been rude and, after all, it turned out there was a purpose to it. There generally was a purpose to all the things that the chocolatier did, no matter how strange it seemed to someone else.

Mr. Wonka had explained to Charlie that the tiny people's language really wasn't that complex, but the context into which things were put was most important. The young heir certainly didn't want to insult an Oompa-loompa; they were far too nice to him and Mr. Wonka for that. Not to mention how important they were to the factory. So, the little boy began studying their language thoroughly. Currently, he could communicate only basic words. Nonetheless, it thrilled them; it showed that Charlie Bucket respected them and their culture. The rest of the Bucket family hadn't been quite as ambitious. After all, they were still getting used to Willy Wonka himself!

The Oompa-loompas always acknowledged Charlie's presence kindly and with reverence. They knew how important the child was to Willy and they worshipped the chocolatier as much as cocoa beans themselves. The small people knew that their mystical master made the right choice as usual; that truly the boy belonged as part of their factory, their world. Why, they had almost predicted his very presence.

The elevator came to a smooth but abrupt stop and made a pleasant little 'ding' sound. Charlie stepped off and heard the elevator whoosh away behind him. Someone else must have called it; in all likeliness it was Willy Wonka himself. Charlie twisted his head to his side and wondered what the man was up to. He seemed to always be wondering that…even before he met him. Though he saw nothing, the boy was pretty sure they would run into each other at some point, as usual, so he pulled out his tiny ring of keys and placed the third one into the brass keyhole on the door. Mr. Wonka had only given him keys to harmless rooms or rooms under heavy supervision by the Oompa-loompas. The key to the library was one of his favorites. Firstly, because he liked to read books; especially the many strange and wonderful ones that Mr. Wonka kept. Secondly, because he knew the library resided somewhere inside of the candy maker's personal quarters. Being in the room made him feel closer to the man himself. That thought made his heart beat a bit faster, accompanied by the usual sensation of trepidation mixed with inquisitiveness. He took a small breath and steadied himself. Wonka probably wasn't anywhere near the library anyway.

The keyhole to the vast room was designed to look like it had a face on it; the hole appeared as a startled mouth. It was a whimsical idea that his mentor may very well have gotten from the same book that the boy was carrying. A loud echoing click accompanied the automated opening of the heavy steel door. This room was locked up like a vault of money, for it contained something that Mr. Wonka valued even more than tender - knowledge.

Upon entering the room, Charlie would be greeted by rows, upon rows, upon rows, upon piles, upon stacks of books. Tightly packed shelves climbed up the vaulted ceiling. How long had it taken the candy maker to read them all?

The books varied dramatically in subject matter. Mr. Wonka had not forbidden Charlie to read anything that he desired, but he warned him that the books kept at the topmost of his shelves, those that could only be reached by special built-in swiveling ladders, were most disturbing. Charlie had not become brave enough to find out what they were yet. He only read the binder of one; that book contained ALL the reports of information gathered by Nazi Doctors. He wasn't completely sure what the symbol on the binder meant, but he knew it was bad. He mentioned it privately to Mr. Wonka and with great concern as to why he had it. The man only responded that the way the knowledge was gained might be bad, but that knowledge itself could not be; it was how one used it that made the difference. Besides, he pointed out that he also had multiple translations of the Torah along with a hundred or more books on religion itself. All of them mingled among books on subjects as silly as knock-knock jokes, rubber, yo-yos, and platypuses.

Charlie sure was curious about those books at the top though. He craned his small neck upwards towards them…it wasn't like his family would know if he read a few of them. He twiddled his fingers. Maybe he'd just sit down first.

He walked over to the large rectangular table. The table was a work of art itself! It was built by Mr. Wonka's tiny workers, the top of the large table stood on thick carved legs that were sculptures of the Oompa-loompa people in traditional tribal garb. The polished top of the table had fanciful embellishments around the boarder that were the pictorial language of the tiny people. The tales all spoke of cocoa beans and the shape of cocoa beans were emblazoned all over their sculptures. Charlie smiled; they were charming and predictable in those ways. He traced the images with his finger.

A large stained 'glass' wall glowed and formed the entire back area of the room. Soft light emanating from somewhere behind the opaque, eatable structure, creating a relaxed and comforting atmosphere. The decorative window was actually made out of colored hard sugar, like lollypops; colors swirled into giant striped ripples, trapping warped air bubbles here and there. Only one bright-red stripe, curled into a giant cursive phrase: "Dare to Dream".

Charlie hopped into one of the leather covered, throne-like chairs surrounding the long table, placing his book bag on top. He loved sitting in these ornate chairs and pretending that he was Sir Galahad from the Knights of the Round Table. Mr. Wonka could be Merlin, he had decided. The boy knew he wasn't supposed to believe in magic, but he secretly did, and he also secretly thought, maybe more than thought, that Mr. Wonka knew magic. He let out the deepest sigh his young lungs could manage and leaned his arms dreamily onto the strange, elegant table. As he did so, his eyes noticed a plate of treats and a tall thermos.

The thermos had the phrase, "Drink Me", etched artfully into its polished coppery surface. The treats were top hat shaped and all had icing that read, "Eat Me". Charlie laughed, it seemed Mr. Wonka had left him the snack based off of the Lewis Carroll book. The boy was delighted to oblige the 'eatible' commands. He just hoped they wouldn't make him as big as a house!

He poured the drink out first and took the tiniest of sips. The thermos contained steaming hot, spiced caramel apple cider pressed from Mr. Wonka's candy trees. Nothing weird happened to him, so he allowed himself to gulp down a few big, delicious swallows. The drink went quite nicely with the fun-shaped cookies. The dough was as black as Mr. Wonka's real top hat and tasted like spiced dark chocolate; an after flavor of black pepper and ginger lingered on his palette. He smacked his lips putting all the flavors together in his mouth. Mr. Wonka had been extremely pleased at how sensitive Charlie's taste buds were and stated that all those years without proper nutrition had probably been the reason. The chocolatier had also quipped that as bad as those experiences probably were for Charlie, he should now consider what a useful effect they had on him now. The statement was followed by Wonka studying the boy with an odd, intense expression on his face.

The young heir to the factory pondered that memory while he licked the icing off the top of the cookie. The bright red frosting that decorated the cookies had the flavor of "snozzberries"; an intense, tart berry that only seemed to be known by the famous candymaker himself. There seemed to be a lot of things that the man knew about that no one else did. Despite being scared to ask, the child really, really wanted to know why that was.

A little after he consumed the wonderful treats he started to get very drowsy though. His small mouth released a giant yawn, surprising himself.

"Excuse me!" said Charlie to no one. He was one of those kids that would be polite even to thin air; his manners were that ingrained into him. Charlie released one more yawn before resting his head onto the table, on top of his crossed arms. Maybe a little nap was a good idea: he had been concentrating awfully hard lately. And with that last thought he fell soundly asleep.

A moment later, the library doors pushed open silently and revealed a pair of tiny glittering eyes, with a large, looming shadow behind them. The owner of the tiny black eyes stepped into the room and craned his neck to observe Charlie bent over the table, the open thermos, and the half eaten plate of baked goods. The little man in the brightly colored jumpsuit made an OK motion to the large wooden door, which then pushed open further, allowing the well-dressed form of Willy Wonka to enter. He resisted using his cane and awkwardly tiptoed over to Charlie's side, tilting his torso down for a complete examination of the sleeping child. A wistful smile settled on his pale face; the plan had worked well, for Mr. Wonka had eyes and ears all over his factory – he always knew where the boy and his family was.

The little man was now motioning again toward the door and a second Oompa-loompa came in wearing a tiny elegant suit and a tiny bolo hat. He shut the door to the library carefully behind himself and locked it. Wonka made a "shush" gesture to both of the men who returned the motion back to him.

The first Oompa loompa walked under the table and gently picked up Charlie's legs onto his back. Wonka placed his cane off to the side and moved a second throne-like chair to meet the boy's legs creating an impromptu bed for the boy to be layed-out across. An expression of concentrated admiration for Charlie's unconscious form spread across his face until the Oompa-loompa in the bolo hat tugged at his employer's pant leg. Wonka made an "Oh yes" kind of gesture and proceeded to step away from the chairs.

The two Oompa-loompas worked quickly and started to pull out tape measures and take notes of all of Charlie's body parts; his lanky legs, long arms, slim waist, large shoes, delicate neck, everything. Charlie didn't move at all, only his chest rose and fell with deep breathes. He was in a very sound sleep now. Wonka just kept watching, clutching his cane in one hand, while playing with something in his velvet coat pocket with the other, smiling, his lips sealed. After a bit, the chocolatier started to look around his library, quirking one eyebrow and pressing a plastic-covered finger to his reddish lips. Willy walked away and cautiously began to climb one of the strong, tall ladders in the library.

Some time later, Charlie woke up and groggily wondered what time it was. How long had he been asleep? He had some very interesting dreams: strange, frightening, wonderful, fantasy-like dreams of himself and Willy Wonka. Such dreams had started since the fateful day that he had met the man. Wonka never knew how torn-up the experience of meeting the chocolatier had left him. One part of him was deeply glad when he showed up at the shoeshine booth, but another part was preparing to be hurt again. So, he played along, pretending not to notice the loud sound and parking of the Great Glass Elevator; pretending that the over-dressed man, who awkwardly walked and sat down holding a newspaper over his face the entire time, was really a customer. Charlie had wanted to laugh then too, but wasn't sure what Mr. Wonka wanted this time. So, he deliberately kept a hard look on his face.

It had turned out that all the chocolatier wanted was advice; he wanted to know how to 'feel better'. It wasn't his health that was faltering though - it was his spirit.

After accompanying Mr. Wonka to the remote location of his father's dental office, the candy man had been barely able to speak. He stood tensed and pulled into himself inside of the elevator. Charlie saw him as not much older than himself in that moment. He couldn't see the candymaker's eyes through the bulky glasses, but inside of Dr. Wonka's office (which was also Mr. Wonka's former home) they had looked so large, so lost. Exactly like a child's.

"Thank you, Charlie." Was all he managed to say after a long moment.

"Anytime." Charlie had quite sincerely replied.

The Glass Elevator gave one the eerie feeling of drifting in mid-air, birds passing to the side and clouds below your very feet. It also made almost no noise once it was air-borne, giving the silence a deafening voice of it's own. The whole experience was surreal; a worthy story unto itself. It made the boy a little sad to think that would be all he would have, a few stories. He bet that i everyday /i with the famous man would be an adventure.

Charlie heard Mr. Wonka take a deep breath.

"I-I've missed you." He stated quietly, not looking at the boy.

He could sense that statement wasn't easy for Mr. Wonka. From what he knew about the chocolatier's own stonewalled relationship with his father, the man could be far more stubborn than even his Grandpa George!

"I missed you too." He concurred in his small English voice. The boy finally allowed his face to show a smile in Willy Wonka's direction.

"Really!" Mr. Wonka seemed quite pleased to hear that, his voice had shot up an octave. Quickly, nervously, he gathered himself again. The clouds in the sky reflected in the sizable, circular lenses.

"Ah, so, I was thinkin' maybe yer, uh, family could also come live with me in the factory." He took a distasteful swallow after the statement. "I mean, if you would still like to have the factory that is."

Charlie's eyes widened. He gasped. "Do you mean that? Do you really mean it, Mr. Wonka?"

"Uh-huh." He said with a quiver in his voice and a large toothy grin.

The boy really wanted to hug Mr. Wonka right then, but prevented himself from doing it. He recalled vividly how the man had reacted to Violet Beauregarde's embrace. No, he wouldn't risk offending him, especially after such a gracious offer.

"Oh, but I don't know if my grandparents would like living anywhere but our old home." Pondered Charlie.

Willy pursed his lips in thought for only seconds, "Well then, we'll just hafta move the whole thing then, won't we? Why not? There's plenty of room! Howsabout that!" He giggled brightly. "Yer all gonna just love it! Think about it, all the candy you can eat!"

Charlie was smiling broadly now; he couldn't help it.

Mr. Wonka could be so simple at times, it made the boy instantly forgive him the grief that his own heart and family had been put through on his behalf. Poor, strange, lonely, silly, amazing Willy Wonka – he never, ever, in a thousand million years would have guessed that the famous candy maker would have needed, an insignificant person like himself, as much as he needed the mythical man…

Charlie sat up and stretched, thoughts like that had a tendency to pervade his brain upon rising. He rubbed the sand out of his eyes and noticed something that he could have sworn wasn't there before. It was a new leather-covered book; it was titled, Alexander the Great and The Greco-Roman Empire. What a neat name! Hm, "Charlie the Great?" Maybe. But what did that man have to do with candy & chocolate making? Oh well, probably as much as Alice in her "Wonderland" did. Mr. Wonka's mind related things in unconventional, but to many people, ingenious ways. The boy started to flip through the rough-edged, dusty pages: a rather intimidating amount of information was contained along with many illustrations! Still he was willing to try; this aspect of his personality was something else that Mr. Wonka admired. Things that Charlie did not understand did not tend to put off the boy.

Suddenly the child turned around wondering if Mr. Wonka might just still be in the room. He sort of felt as if he was being watched, but…his friend was nowhere to be seen. So, the boy hopped out of the elaborate chair. He decided that while he would love to look for Mr. Wonka some more, he better get back to his family. They could be worried. He placed the new, large volume into his book-bag, removing the former one.

Charlie's family was only mildly concerned. He was gone for a while, but the Oompa-loompas had brought a note from Mr. Wonka himself, explaining that Charlie was helping him with a very important project. Charlie was puzzled by the wording on the watermarked note, but didn't question anything in front of his family.

He admired Mr. Wonka's artistic penmanship. It looked like something written on the American Constitution! Mrs. Bucket smiled watching Charlie's adoration for a mere piece of paper that reminded him of his mentor. Mr. Bucket's long, thin mouth bore a smile as well, but it was weaker. Willy Wonka was a lot to compete with for attention lately. Grandpa Joe came over and squinted at the paper until he could see it more clearly, then got a face that looked a lot like Charlie's. "Fine penmanship is the mark of a true scholar and gentleman, Charlie." The slender old man stated. Charlie thought about his own rather unremarkable writing skills and got a slightly worried look on his face.

His father laughed, reading his son's thoughts in the boy's expression, "Don't worry Charlie, you have a lot of time to catch up with old Mr. Wonka."

"Is Willy going to join us for dinner?" asked Grandma Josephine casually.

Charlie froze and looked up from concentrated efforts. "Oh, ah…I'm not sure actually."

"Didn't you spend hours with him? What did he say?" asked his Mother, her usual curly bob looking especially nice tied up with a silk hair ribbon. It had come from a fanciful box of chocolates given to the family by his benefactor.

Charlie felt guilty for the first time since he had gotten to the factory. He hadn't quite told the truth now had he? But he didn't want to ruin Mr. Wonka's letter either. Perhaps there was a way to avoid getting either of them into trouble. After all, hadn't Mr. Wonka gotten him out of trouble for being away so long?

"Uhh…I forgot to ask about dinner." He finally stated, very nervously. It wasn't a lie, he told himself.

"Charlie, that was rude of you. Since we don't want him to feel uninvited, I'll set an extra place just in case." She said in a gentle tone. His mother was never harsh when she reprimanded him.

Mr. Wonka did not make an appearance that evening, but Grandpa Joe told another fascinating tale about him from the days when he worked at the chocolatier's factory. It was a tale of Mr. Wonka getting even with Mr. Ficklegruber and Mr. Prodnose for trying to pull a practical joke on him. Long story short, no one should mess with Willy Wonka on April Fool's day! In fact, Mr. Wonka took the day quite seriously and didn't appreciate anyone pulling pranks on that particular day, but especially not at his expense.

When Charlie asked his grandparents what was so important about the first of April, only Grandpa Joe answered by telling Charlie that he could learn a lot by remembering King Arthur's tale (another book he'd borrowed recently). The boy tried, but a lot of the story had gone over his head; he liked it anyway though. The rest of his family looked a little nervous for some reason.

Grandma Josephine decided to clarify things a little more by simply stating that Willy Wonka had a rather ancient set of beliefs that almost no one understood anymore. This only made Charlie more interested, but he let the subject change when his mother brought up her day with the Oompa-loompas. She had been given the job of assisting them with their children during the day and she really liked it. Mr. Bucket and his wife had not managed to have another child, so the little people were all like Charlie's cousins now.

Mr. Wonka had seen to it that they all had jobs within the factory. Now, while they were all free to leave the factory at any time of course, they found that their jobs kept them far too busy to even think about the world outside. Mr. Wonka's factory was an entire world unto itself!

Charlie had no luck getting to sleep that evening. His mind was haunted with the events of the day. He found himself just staring up at his ceiling onto which he had taped the note for further study. He especially liked his idol's signature. Wasn't Mr. Wonka the most remarkable person in the whole wide world? He sighed. How could he ever fill his elegant shoes? He looked at his own worn-out, clunky boots on the floor and twisted his little face into annoyance; wriggling up his nose. Suddenly he wasn't sure if he liked his clothes anymore.

The pale blue light of the false moon was all that lit up his tiny bedroom, but it was enough to view things with. Restless, he pulled out the book Mr. Wonka had given him from under his bed and pulled off the old cloth that he had wrapped around it for protection. He started to try and read it. It was a little dry, but one subject in the table of contents caught his attention right away: "How Christianity replaced Paganism". Immediately he flipped to that chapter and started to read.

Eventually, he came to a sentence that stated Christian people pulled pranks on the day of the Pagan New Year in order to insult the old religion: to infer that it was "a joke". The date of the Pagan New Year was April 1st. Charlie gasped. Was this was why Mr. Wonka wanted him to read the huge book? Then he wondered exactly what a 'Pagan' was? He never heard of such a thing. Checking the text for a date, there were references to 300 B.C. and earlier! That was over two thousand years ago! Wow…He eagerly flipped through more of the book. There was mention of witches, a later form of Paganism, but nothing in-depth. Perhaps there was another book on that subject! He had a feeling he was on to something very important about his mentor.

The text in the following chapters stunned, yet intrigued him. It was about the famous and handsome 'Alexander the Great'. It was about how they trained warriors. The phrase "boy lovers" was used along with various art illustrating the concepts. He flushed imagining the whole scenario. No one ever told him about this before!

Much to his shock, the image of kissing his benefactor drifted into his mind. The boy clasped his hands to his mouth! Shame on him! It was an accident! He shoved the thought away, but it popped back into his head again. He couldn't help it! It was like the more he told himself NOT to think about it, the more his brain managed to. Some of the illustrations were a LOT more graphic than kissing! He squinted his eyes closed and tried to chase the images away. He should stop looking at them, he supposed, but it WAS all true! They weren't just "dirty pictures". The boy consoled himself with the thought that it was just history. He reminded himself about Mr. Wonka's phrase, that there was no such thing as bad knowledge, and relaxed, somewhat. As he continued to read the chapter, it stated that even the philosophers and great thinkers of that age embraced these relationships. It was all socially acceptable and not considered harmful in the slightest. The child's mentors often later chose wives for their young lovers. Until then, the boys were like wives to the men; with all the responsibilities that relationship would entail. Charlie's eyes swelled at this new information. He read and read late into the night, having no idea when his tired eyes gave up or when his body fell asleep on top of the book, one slim arm draped off the bed…

**Author's Notes:**

**"Come to my arms my beamish boy" is another quote from the poem, "The Jabberwocky" in Lewis Carroll's Alice Through the Looking Glass.**

**All facts about Alexander the Great and other books mentioned are factual. Another reminder, this is a tale about fictional people doing fictional things and is not meant to condone or elicit any sort of relationship, however…interesting food for thought, yes?**

**Please feel free to leave feedback even long after I have posted this story. I would very much like to know if you would like to see it continued.**


	4. Volume 4

**Title:** Is It Scary, volume IV

**By:** IDOL HANDS

**Rating:** PG-17

**Warnings:** for dramatic themes, alternate or traditional Paganism, suggestions of under-aged slash in fiction and history and a bit more...

**Disclaimer:** The characters portrayed are not my property but that of the estate of R. Dahl, Tim Burton, Freddie Highmore, Deep Roy, and Johnny Depp.

**Summary:** What good is all the luxury in the world without the one human emotion that everyone craves? And as we all know, nothing can buy and you can't steal it, for it has to be willingly given. A couple of surprises in store for both parties and one GIANT question is asked (sorta, kinda, yeah).

**"Will you, won't you, will you, won't you join the dance?"**

Charlie woke up a little later than usual that morning. It didn't matter, because he didn't need to get up for school anymore. Mr. Wonka had convinced the family that Charlie would learn FAR more valuable lessons in the factory than at those under-funded, restrictive public schools. He bargained with the family to give him just one week off from the wretched place to prove this to them. The family reluctantly agreed; a short vacation from his homework couldn't hurt him too badly they supposed. Not to mention the fact that Mr. and Mrs. Bucket could attest to the fact that public school hadn't taken them very far. Grandpa Joe pointed out that Willy Wonka himself hadn't even been to school past the fifth grade!

The Bucket family saw Charlie learn more about history, math, science, and art in that one week with Willy, than he had learned in an entire semester of school. Their boy absorbed everything Mr. Wonka said like a sponge! You also couldn't stop the boy from explaining it all to the family afterwards! At this point, everyone was learning new things. They agreed to arrange for the chocolatier to be his personal tutor from then on. The district allowed "at home" schooling as long as Charlie showed up once in a while to pass minimum basic tests. The only caveat was that Mr. Wonka should have been a certified teacher or at least a college graduate, but somehow he got around that bit.

The young Bucket picked himself up, yawned, and stretched out his lanky form. He made a short gasp when he realized that he had fallen asleep on the huge book which was wide open to certain texts that he'd probably rather no one in his family saw. He stealthily closed the book shut, wrapped the old dishrag around it, and hefted it back into his canvas book bag. After that he carefully peered through the gaps in his bedroom floor to the main family room. Surveying the house, it became apparent that it was completely empty.

A sigh of relief was released. Everyone must have already headed to his or her various designated jobs around the factory. Charlie felt a tad guilty, he had stuff he should be doing too. Hadn't Mr. Wonka shown up looking for him yet? Maybe he'd be mad.

He bounced back up and climbed down the rickety ladder. Once he reached the floor, he realized there was a cloth draped over the kitchen table with a note on it. He picked up it up:

**Good Morning Starshine! The Earth says HELLO!**

**Sorry, couldn't resist. Mr. Wonka already came by this morning. **

**He said he couldn't bear to wake you and would be back later. Isn't it nice to be able to sleep in a little late now that you don't have regular school? **

**We left some breakfast for you and Willy to share later.**

**OK, hope you got lots of sleep so that you can learn everything he needs to teach you!**

**Hugs and Kisses, **

**Mom**

Near his mother's signature was a silly doodle of herself with curly hair and a bow. Charlie smiled and removed the cloth to expose a humble breakfast of oatmeal with raisins, butter, syrup, and a bowl of Mr. Wonka's famous walnuts. That was nice, but…not great. His mentor didn't really care for oatmeal. He would add a good deal of syrup and nibbled at it to be polite. Actually, the candy maker had taken to arriving too late for breakfast or asking Charlie to meet him some place in order to avoid it.

Today was going to be different he decided! He had an idea. He opened the heavily slanted front door that had no business staying in its hinges and took a step on the lawn. He looked down at the long, candy grass that tickled his bare feet - everywhere were miracles to him. Looking around the Chocolate Room, where they lived, he saw a lack of activity. The boy raised a balled fist to his mouth, cleared his throat with a small "ahem", and proceeded to let out a loud, "Li-Li-Li-Li-Li!"

Almost immediately a diminutive man, barely two feet tall stood at Charlie's side. He crossed his arms across his chest and made a quick bow from his middle. The Bucket boy did the same and they both smiled at each other. OK, now for the hard part.

Charlie put his hands together and spread out his palms, then he made a grunt for emphasis. He took his right hand, pushing the fingers together like he was going to pick something up out of his flat left hand, then lifted it to his mouth, back down to his stomach and rubbed. The next gesture was the tipping of an imaginary hat with a very broad smile, a silly tooting noise, followed by pointing to the horizon, raising both hands back up with the fingers spread out; each thumb and index finger put together to create a circle. The child was pretty sure he did that right. "Important: what food/meal does Mr. Wonka like for breakfast?"

The Oompa-loompa man gave a quick, genuine grin with an approving murmured sound. He made a thumbs-up gesture at Charlie to indicate that he understood. The people had picked up that particular movement from Willy himself; the man had influenced their culture in many ways.

Charlie watched as the tiny dark-skinned man with the top-notch attempted to answer him. He started by mixing an imaginary bucket in his left arm, then formed perfect circles by putting his two hands together. He startled the enraptured boy with a hissing sound. Then the man seemed lost for a word to explain the sound. He pointed into Charlie's house, grunted, then pressed his hands together in a prayer kind of motion to say, "May I enter?"

The boy naturally stepped aside to let him in. The man quickly scampered over to Charlie's stove and tapped on it. OK, so it's a hot, circular food that needs to be mixed? The boy pondered a few seconds. It popped into his head! "Pancakes! Is it pancakes?"

The tiny man smiled and tapped his nose repeatedly then pointed at Charlie with an excited "whoop!" Yes, it was! Charlie beamed at him, "I'm gonna make him pancakes then!"

Now some Oompa-loompas understood more English than others, very few spoke it, but the Golden Ticket Winner usually liked to practice his skills before he tried to find out. The Oompa-loompa he had summoned got a thoughtful look on his face, flared his hands forward, then re-flexed his fingers once. He added two short grunts followed by a high-pitched noise. This meant "Wait here", it also implied excitement.

The tiny man returned quickly with two others. They were holding some items in their hands and gave the boy a unison of deep-sounding giggles. Apparently they liked the idea and wanted to help. "Silly Oompa-loompas", thought Charlie and giggled back at them. He went over to the small closet and pulled out his father's old toothpaste factory apron. "Right then, let's get started!"

A short while later, the lop-sided door was slowly parted open a tad wider than it had been left. The family didn't usually leave the door open even though it was perfectly safe to do such. Willy peered into the quiet room; a lumpy, tall cloth on the rough kitchen table blocked his view. He took one step into the room exposing half his body, the other half hidden by the door. From there he saw the most charming display of Charlie standing on a small stool at the oven stirring a very large pot with a wooden spoon.

The boy was still in his white cotton nightshirt. It came to slightly above his knees, exposing his slender fair-skinned legs. He had just placed the spoon into the large pot and pulled it out for a taste; his lips puckered together to blow the heat off. Carefully he tasted the substance, trying to test it as his mentor had taught him with smacking noises. Mr. Wonka proceeded to try and very, very quietly enter the room. He silently laid his cane against the wall. However, a few steps and the floor creaked loudly under his bad right leg. He squinted up his face. "Drat", he thought.

Charlie let out a loud gasp. "Mr. Wonka! I didn't hear you come in!" He hopped off the short stepstool. The spoon was still in hand and Willy could now see the pale blue and white apron that the child was wearing or perhaps wearing him. The hem came to the middle of his calf, making the chocolatier smile dreamily. He also liked all the flour and splatters of mysterious goop on the lad.

"Whatcha doin'?" Said Wonka, stepping closer, hands behind his back.

Charlie quickly tucked the spoon behind his back and grinned making his round cheeks show off their deep dimples.

"It's supposed to be a SUR-prize." He said mimicking his mentor from the day of the famous tour.

"Oh, what did I win?" There was almost a crafty look to Wonka's bright smile.

"It's under the tablecloth." Charlie answered shyly.

One dusty-colored purple glove made its appearance, gripped the cloth, and in a flash yanked off the cloth. The boy flinched at how easily the candy maker did the whole motion.

Wonka's mouth dropped open at what had been exposed. The man laughed in approval and slapped his hand to his face. "Holy Macaroni, Charlie! You didn't have to do all this for me!"

There were several very tall piles of pancakes made from different batters, cut fruit with decorative foliage, freshly whipped cream, bacon, sausage, freshly squeezed juice, even flowers! The most tantalizing aspect was the dozen or so bowls containing things like: jellybeans, nuts, peanut butter chips, green maraschino cherries, broken up graham cracker, and Mr. Wonka's own 'nerd' candies. These weren't ordinary flapjacks; they were designed to be enjoyed like sundaes!

"The Oompa-loompas helped," confessed the boy "and they told me this was your favorite thing to have for breakfast."

Again Wonka's smile seemed to hide a secondary emotion. "Really? And they didn't say a thing to me as I headed over here. How naughty of them."

Charlie could tell from the chocolatier's tone that he was only teasing.

"But then, I've been asking them to keep secrets too." And with that, the man put forward the stacked pile of boxes that he had been concealing behind his back. Multiple boxes in brightly patterned paper were held together with a long, tied-up rope of licorice.

"What's THAT?" The boy's entire face lit up. He completely forgot to hide the spoon anymore.

"Howsabout you take this up to your room and find out? I'll stay down here and see about this breakfast, which IS my favorite…especially now." He looked into Charlie's blue-green eyes. Casually Wonka leaned against the ladder leading to the boy's humble room, one arm dangling the parcels in front of himself.

Charlie put down the spoon, grabbed a towl, and hurridly wiped off his face and hands. He dashed over to Mr. Wonka and climbed up the ladder with the parcel, an appreciative grin on his face. The candy maker allowed his lavender eyes to dart upwards for a brief second. Telling himself that he wanted to make sure that the boy didn't fall, not that he was intentionally finding out that Charlie wore nothing at all underneath his night clothes. That reminded him of something else he wanted to discuss.

He cleared his throat, adjusted the 'W' pinned there and headed towards the table.

The sound of packages being very carefully unwrapped tickled his ears; he knew how the boy unwrapped things, he nearly wept watching him undo a candy wrapper for the first time. It was like watching poetry, such reverence for his work! There was also the element of self-torture that the boy was inflicting on himself, i depriving /i himself of instant gratification, i extending /i the process to make last as long as possible. His eyes had gone half-mast with the imagery. He better stop or he was going to over-excite himself again. The thought of Augustus Gloop being the exact opposite of those images did the trick.

"OH! I nearly forgot! There's a special chocolate sauce for them on the oven – It's made from the chocolate river. Don't worry, it's completely sanitary!" Came the boy's chipper voice from upstairs. He was accustomed to many of Mr. Wonka's peculiarities, but it made sense, even to him, that no bare hand should ever touch the magnificent mixing device. The ingenious chocolate waterfall provided the chocolate for the same bars he had consumed on his own birthdays!

Willy took off his striped velvet coat, draping it over the back of the chair. He also put his shiny black top hat at the place next to him. Next, he walked over to the stove and examined the gently percolating, large pot. His attention went to the spoon. He glanced up towards his heir's room but couldn't see the boy. Tucking back one side of his hair, he picked it up and examined where Charlie had put his mouth. There was still sauce clinging to the device. With slight trepidation, he raised the spoon to his own mouth and gave the ladle a slow lick over its porous texture, closing his eyes, sucking the end for a second before beginning to analyze all of the flavors. He was pretty sure he could taste him underneath the familiar ones. How interesting.

"I don't believe it!" Announced Charlie, snapping the man out of his trance. Wonka smiled and proceeded to ladle out the sauce correctly into a small pitcher that had been placed on the nearby countertop. He headed back towards the table and sat down.

"Ya like it?" He said kindly, now happily eyeing the banquet before him while tucking a bib into the top of his high-collared vest.

"It's so..they're all so beautiful! It's too nice for me, I'll look foolish." Came the cheerful complaints.

"Nonsense, you'll look every bit the part of an heir to a candy empire; like a little prince! Put on your favorite one right now, I wanna see you." Charlie was amused to hear Mr. Wonka talking with his mouth full – took a lot of edge off of the commands.

By the time Charlie had made it back down, Mr. Wonka had a plate completely covering his face. He was thoroughly licking the surface clean.

"Guess you liked it then." Said Charlie with a satisfied laugh.

Wonka might have been embarrassed to have been caught doing something so childish, if he weren't distracted by how perfect the boy looked to him now.

There he stood, back arched, slim form exposed and dressed in a fanciful costume that perfectly complemented his mentors. Where Wonka usually wore dark colors accented with brighter ones, Charlie's was the opposite. A rich hunter green and royal blue composed the tailored shorts, stylized trimmed shirt (which had tails like a tuxedo jacket), and the cropped boxy jacket. The sleeves were just a bit short, in order to show off the flared cuffs. His small key ring and chain hung from his trimmed pant pockets that peeked out from under the shorter front of the shirt. A small cravat decorated and concealed his throat.

Black piping and patterns toned down the other vibrant colors, while another stripe picked up on the deep plum red of Willy's favorite jacket. It was also Charlie's favorite and was the reason he had picked this outfit, because it matched his benefactor today. The best part of the whole thing for the boy was the mini top hat with the two chic feather's springing from the side. Tufts of his chestnut brown hair stuck out here and there, catching the mock sunlight, turning strands of it golden.

Charlie's legs were partly covered by tall socks that were being held up by small garters around his calves. Since the Oompa-loompas had to measure Charlie's feet with his boots still on them, the shoes had a small platform to them and a chunky quality, but were far more elegant that his old ones, plus they had large gold buckles on the side. The child was only twisting the matching gloves in his hands; too nervous to put them on at the moment. He had wanted to rush down and show off, but now the man's stare was starting to get to him.

"Come here." Mr. Wonka patted the seat next to him. He realized how intense his face must have seemed at the moment, so he instantly put the famous, plastic grin back on. This didn't really relax the boy, but he was almost accustomed to the eerie mask-like expression. He couldn't possibly tell him not to do that, he'd had to get used to it.

"Uh, did you pick up the book that I left in the library the other day?" Mr. Wonka's voice was as non-chalant as he could manage. His extraordinary eyes had fixated on his own hands.

"You mean the one that you left on the table? The one about Alexander the Great?" Queried Charlie.

"Yeah, that's the one. Uh, listen I um, was just lookin' somethin' up and I didn't mean to leave it so carelessly lying about. I realize that your family might be upset if they saw something like that, ya know?" Mr. Wonka was now stroking the back of his own hair, glancing quickly in Charlie's direction.

"Oh." Charlie said matter-of-a-factly, "Don't worry they didn't see it, but I thought you wanted me to read it, so I did."

"Hmm." Mr. Wonka said in a plain tone, but his body language gave away his nervousness. The quirk at the turn of his mouth gave away satisfaction. The quirk at the turn of his mouth gave away satisfaction as he twisted his fork around for no reason. "What parts did you read?"

Another blush crept up to Charlie's face. Should he tell the truth? "I read about Paganism, that was REALLY interesting and…and then parts about…Alexander and…how men well, teachers……" A long pause of silence followed. He couldn't bring himself to finish the sentence.

"They had a very thorough way of education back then, huh?" Offered the candyman, putting pancakes onto Charlie's plate.

"Well ya know why they did that? To create a stronger bond; to make the learning process go better. I had pulled out the book to look up some recipes that are in there, ones on honey wine and Greek pastries with philo dough. Didja get to that part?" Mr. Wonka had an imperceptible grin at the corners of his bow-shaped mouth. He was adding dollops of the whipped cream to Charlie's multi-colored stack.

Charlie blushed more. "No…s-sorry." He felt guilty that he had only seemed interested in the more lascivious parts of the text. Apparently, Mr. Wonka had read it for other purposes.

"Hey, it's a pretty big book, I'm surprised you read as much as you did in one night. You're a very good reader, ya know that?" Wonka tapped the end of the boy's scooped nose playfully, then his eyes went to examining all of Charlie's features more closely.

"It's cuz I used to sell newspapers, used tah read 'em to my family too. I suppose that's why." The boy was darting his eyes into and away from Mr. Wonka's gaze. His jitters were causing his accent to get a bit thicker than usual.

"It did get me to thinkin' though. We, uh, we don't really have a 'special bond', do we? I mean, I'm not related to you or anything, sometimes it makes me kinda sad. You could very well decide not to live here anymore and I'd be stuck all by my lonesome again." Mr. Wonka had not moved from his close proximity and had now put an arm around the back of the boy's chair. He had also deftly removed the bib that was previously added to guard his wardrobe.

"But I'd never do that! I swear! I can't believe you'd even worry about it!" Charlie nearly shouted his statement.

"You said NO to me once already." Mr. Wonka's voice had taken on that more masculine sound that the boy rarely heard.

"There's so much I want to share with you, so much I wanna teach you, so much I want you to understand, but I need to be sure you'll stay by my side. I know you love your family, you already picked them over me and my factory, but how do I know…" Mr. Wonka didn't get a chance to finish that thought.

"I DO love you, you're my friend, you're my hero!" Charlie couldn't stand listening to the 'great' Willy Wonka tear himself up anymore. He grabbed him and hugged him tightly. "I love you." His words were slightly muffled by the man's clothes. Wonka caught the brand new top hat that was toppling off of the boy's head and carefully put it onto the table next to his own much larger one; creating an unintentional symbolism.

An arm wrapping around Charlie's form exactly as firmly as his own, told the boy that he hadn't committed a major offense. The child could not see Mr. Wonka's expression, on his ethereally pale face, but it looked enraptured.

Disturbing the boy's focus on how Willy Wonka smelled a little bit more like a man than he would have thought under the candy-coating, the chocolatier whispered into his ear, "No one has ever said that to me, Charlie."

The boy couldn't imagine that. He couldn't imagine having never been told that every day of his life. How awful, he must be mistaken. "But your father…"

"Uh-uh. Not out-loud, not once." He was holding the boy's form even tighter as he said that through clenched teeth.

"But he does, you know that." Charlie was getting a little suffocated, so subsequently he was trying to crane his head back to see Willy's face.

"Yeah, sure, that's why he picked up and moved and left me all alone in the world when I was your age." The man's voice was cracking, there was almost no cheer to it. How could someone the Young Bucket boy had come to care about so much be walking around in so much despair? It wasn't fair. The child realized that, in a weird way, he had had far more than Mr. Wonka ever did.

After the long, forceful embrace the chocolatier realized how dramatic the situation had gotten. He gently released his heir. "So you wanna promise?" A pinch more cheer in his tone now.

"Promise?" The child's eyes were glossy with sympathy, he was fighting not to cry.

"Yeah, to stay friends forever, to be my pupil, to stand by me through all the…indoctrinations. I'm not going to lie, you already know, it isn't always going to be, uh, pleasant. I'm asking a lot, but in return I'll give you more than you could ever dream." Mr. Wonka was grasping both of Charlie's small hands inside his own. There was a pleading sensation to the pose.

'More than he could ever dream', the phrase echoed through the boy's head. There was every reason in the world to believe that Mr. Wonka meant that. He paused on the 'wouldn't always be pleasant part'; he already did know that about life. It was true.

'No one has ever said that to me before' also echoed in his head. Someone should say it to him often from now on.

"I promise." His voice was breathless. He had to say it. He meant it, but he was scared too.

Mr. Wonka's bent posture suddenly took him to the floor and onto one knee.

Charlie's eyes widened, his delicate mouth barely parted; a thousand things running through his head at the same time that a stunned silence seemed to be filling it.

The pale purple eyes focused on his own, an unseen look of complete seriousness on Wonka's face. The man had reached one gloved hand into his vest pocket and produced a small, gold, circular object. It was a ring.

And then he placed it onto Charlie's slender finger. It fit perfectly.

**Author's Notes:**

**If you'd like to see what people drew for Charlie's outfit, again I would direct you to Deviant Art and to look up the works of "loony lucifer" and "loi maga". I'd happily supply the links but…fan won't let me, just like they don't let me do A LOT of simple things that I don't understand.**

**Even though other artists have inspired me as well as drawn illustrations from this tale, I'd still love to see what someone else visualized from the description.**


	5. Volume 5

**Title:** Is It Scary, volume V

**By:** IDOL HANDS

**Rating:** Mature (Demented) Audiences

**Warnings:** for dramatic themes, religion, suggestions of under-aged slash in the story and in history (that's not my fault!), threats of violence, and a bit more...

**Disclaimer:** The characters portrayed are not my property but that of the estate of R. Dahl, Tim Burton, Freddie Highmore and Johnny Depp. The rest is the fault of my awful imagination.

**Summary:** Why has Mr. Wonka placed a ring on Charlie's finger? Is it for something that the child is willing to agree to? Then there is the matter of a confrontation between a member of the boy's family. One step closer to the brink…

**"One side will make you grow taller, and the other side will make you grow shorter"**

Charlie wasn't sure what was more startling, seeing Mr. Wonka down on his knee like he'd just proposed marriage or the thin gold ring now on his left index finger practically cementing that fact.

The sharp, even features of the chocolatier's face did not seem to indicate that he was joking in any way. In fact, it was the most serious look the Bucket child had ever seen on Willy Wonka's face. It made him look completely different, it shifted the usual beauty of his face to something much more mannish. The boy started to take fast, short breaths and raised his youthful hand up towards his face; fingers extended. The ring had some sort of criss-cross pattern notched into it, which glittered in the light.

"Wha-what does this mean?" The stunned English boy managed to say.

Mr. Wonka stayed on the dusty, wooden floor studying Charlie. "Whatever you believe it means." His voice was kind, but still eerily serious. His response was non-committal, yet provocative.

"To me it means that I can trust you…" Willy's arched eyebrows had bent upward and he had balled his fist, thudding it against his chest when he used the word "trust". He then finished with, "if you always wear it."

A brief pause of reflection followed. The child looked back at the symbol on his hand again, then back at his unconventional mentor; eyes wide, the brilliant blue/green color of them highlighted by the new outfit the candymaker had also just given to him.

"Are you going to wear one?" His voice whisper-like, like he knew he was in the midst of something secret, possibly forbidden.

Mr. Wonka tilted his gaze downward, bringing his own hands toward himself. He took a deep, jagged breath indicating apprehension. Slowly he began removing the tight, plastic glove on his left hand: the strange squelching and squeaking sounds echoing in the quiet room. Underneath the thick latex a large, elegant bare hand was revealed with skin as luminescent and colorless as that on his face.

On his own index finger there was also a ring, but far more complex than Charlie's. Facing outward was a red, ruby heart with a small, diamond-encrusted crown on top of it held between two silver hands on a golden band. The band was engraved with a complex interlocking pattern, marred down the middle by a missing stripe of material, where again, pale flesh was exposed.

"Yours was made outta mine." A smile once again decorated his face.

"I-It's lovely, Mr. Wonka." The ring reminded him of one of the pictures in the chapter about Paganism, something to do with Celtics, but his mind was too boggled and there was too much information on the subject to remember it all. It was a lovely ring though, despite the new imperfection that the creation of his tiny one had caused.

"Thanks, it was my mother's." The smile was gone again replaced by a look of forlorn; causing Mr. Wonka's eyes to get a sad, lost look in them.

Charlie and the rest of his family knew that his mother had died in her own bed, giving birth to him. It had been a very awkward dinner the night that came up, no one had dared to bring up the woman again, despite having many questions. Willy began pulling his elastic purple glove back on.

"Wait." Charlie said.

Wonka looked back up at him with a bit of confusion.

"I want to…that is, could I…touch your hand?" He had kept his attention on his new chunky shoes, specifically the large buckles (which he liked), until the very end of the question.

Mr. Wonka smiled broadly. "Well, since ya asked so nicely AND since I've been on this darn hard floor too long…yes, yes you can. Help me up."

The boy took his extended hand and gripped it while Wonka made a concentrated, loud grunt standing upright. He used all of his strength to balance the weight, but the old chair the boy was seated in still rocked from their efforts. They both chuckled a little at that. It was a much needed release of tension.

Charlie was still clutching his mentor's bare hand with both of his own. It was strange how something that would normally be commonplace took on such a deep meaning with Willy Wonka. The man's skin was cool to the touch and quite smooth, smoother than his own; like touching a grand, marble statue. His idol was real; flesh and blood, under all those garments, sometimes that didn't seem possible. Holding his naked hand made that fact more tangible, still there was an otherworldly quality even to his touch.

The chocolatier enjoyed gazing down at Charlie holding his hand like that, despite the fact that he was shaking slightly from the newness of it all. He also enjoyed the visible swirl that he could make out in the growth pattern on the top of his small head. There was something powerful and compelling about spirals, he often seemed to fall into them. But maybe this time, he wasn't alone. With a careful gesture he turned his hand and reached upward to stroke his heir's face, tilting it up towards his own.

"I'm only doing this because I trust you. I wouldn't let anyone else in the whole wide world touch me like this." Each word was methodically formed and carefully shaped by his preternaturally stained lips. The effort created exactly the weight he wanted his heir to feel.

Honor, thrill, confusion, and fear mixed inside of him. It was almost exactly how he felt when he won the ticket, when he first met The Willy Wonka of his Grandfather's tales, when the same man made him the unbelievable offer of giving him the factory and allowing him to live inside of it! Now he needed to assure the 'magician' and the 'chocolate wiz' that he meant to keep the promise of staying by his side. He knew there had to be so much more to learn than he could have ever believed existed, and that Mr. Wonka had a lot of secrets to share. Charlie wanted to hear every one of them.

"I won't take it off." The boy's voice was still a whisper as he made reference to the new ring.

Lights danced across the surface of the chocolatier's eyes, though they stayed transfixed on the child's face. The barest of a smile attempted to conceal the swimming of emotional sensations that were occurring inside the mysterious candyman.

After a slight pause, he slowly removed his bare hand back to his side and spoke in his usual musical tone. "Come on, today's gonna be more fun than a barrel of monkeys. Hurry up and eat ya breakfast so we can get started."

Although the boy could barely eat at that point, he managed to get a little of the sugary nutrition into his system over the following ten minutes. It was hard to relax; things seemed very different now, vague and unpredictable. He dared a question that had been scratching at his mind:

"Mr. Wonka, are you a Pagan?" He decided the direct approach would be best at this point. The last word came out sounding almost taboo, he didn't mean for it to.

Willy had been snooping around their house again. He liked to do that. At that moment he had been busying himself in Grandma Georgina's knitting basket, which was kept on the floor by her far side of the bed. He twisted himself to kind of look at Charlie over his shoulder. His lips pursed, eyes flicked away. Seemed his heir had caught him somewhat off guard.

"Ah…well, yes and no. It's kinda complicated." More expressions went across the profile of his face, but he didn't say anything else. He did decide to stand though, brushing off his fitted black trousers as he did and began walking towards the boy.

"It sounds really interesting! Will you tell me about it? All about it?" His dimples were showing again. It felt good to smile. He swung his feet back and forth in the unbalanced chair. The sugar high was starting to kick in, literally.

Mr. Wonka came up to his side and put a hand flat onto the surface of the table, then one onto his hip, both bearing their gloves now. "I plan on tellin' ya everything, but first you gotta finish yer breakfast."

He paused, a distant, amused look on his face. He then proceeded to pick up a fork and fill it with a large bite of fluffy pancake, whip cream and sauce, placing it in front of Charlie's mouth. The boy let out a laugh and opened his mouth wide, accepting the whole thing. Mr. Wonka laughed too; he knew the bite was a tad too big, so some whip cream and sprinkles found their way to the sides of his mouth.

"Mmmm." Charlie said, squinting his eyes shut. The pancake tasted like the hazelnut and raspberry batter ones.

"It IS good, huh?" The voice was much closer than it had been a second ago. Charlie popped his eyes open. He found his mentor bent over, hovering before his face, focusing on the wayward cream and candy. His heart raced as a short lick of it was recovered from the side of his mouth by Willy's tongue. He watched how the chocolatier put the dollop into his own mouth with great dexterity, not allowing a speck to mar his own face. It was hypnotizing and stirred strange sensations inside of him.

Before Mr. Wonka could attempt to repeat the process, the front door to the house unexpectedly swung open.

'Surprised' would not be a strong enough word to describe Mr. Bucket's thought on the scene he had just walked in on. Although Willy had become upright at blinding speed, he still had the sense that the chocolatier had just moved quickly and deliberately away from his son (who had whipped cream on the left side of his face). Not to mention a new, very fancy outfit that he was certain wasn't the boy's idea. And then there was the matter of some sort of party going on. He was too bewildered to talk.

"Charlie made me breakfast!" Came Wonka's nervous greeting.

The skinny Bucket father looked from his son to the wide grin of Mr. Wonka. That statement did nothing to relax his nerves. Why was his son playing homemaker to Willy Wonka?

"Well, the Oompa-loompas helped." Corrected Wonka, still uneasy.

Mr. Bucket's thin, sunken features twisted more, making him look further perplexed.

"Dad, what are you doing home? Is everything all right?" Came Charlie's more sensible questions. Unconsciously, he had slipped his left hand behind his back; the hand which bore the new ring, that was.

Mr. Bucket blinked a few times at the appearance of his son again – it was a very cute outfit, still something about it seemed improper, fetish-like.

"I-I'm fine. Didn't think anyone would be home, just wanted to grab some blue-prints that I left behind this morning." He decided to enter his house, shirking away the odd sensation of having intruded in on something.

"Please do, we were just finishing up." Said Mr. Wonka, the grin still tightly in place as he spoke. Mr. Bucket walked over to the thin bed that he and his wife shared. It now rested on a brass frame due to Willy's insistence. He shouldn't like the feeling of suspicion that was creeping up on him. After all, would he really want his son's hero to turn out to be something bad? Then again, wasn't it natural to want your son to consider you to be their hero rather than some old...fop? Mr. Bucket was his father's son, but he knew better than to blurt out every negative thought that he had.

"Do you like it, Dad?" Charlie was a bit behind him now. Mr. Bucket turned around holding the bundled up rolls of blueprints. The boy happily turned all the way around to show off the new flashy clothes. He was now wearing the mini-top hat and matching gloves as well. The boy flashed an adorable smile, "Mr. Wonka had it made just for me!"

Of course he did, thought his father, but he didn't say that. "It's ah…so different from what you usually wear Charlie."

"Oh, I had sweaters and trousers, and vests and other things made as well. Charlie chose to wear that one. I'm super psyched that he did 'cause I want us to have our portraits painted today!" Interjected Wonka.

There were times when the boy's father really disliked the way Mr. Wonka's voice would move up and down like he was singing music instead of speaking words. The chocolatier tended to bounce his face and expressions around in the same way to accompany it; it was unsettling. Why did he talk like a possessed dummy in a ventriloquist's stage show?

Mr. Bucket had raised one eyebrow ever so slightly replaying Willy's sing-song voice in his head. His son actually chose to wear that doll costume? Idol worship was an intoxicating thing. Maybe too intoxicating…

"Our portraits painted!" Charlie beamed.

"Uh-huh, we gotta have a sitting with Madame Rose. She paints all of my portraits!" Mr. Wonka had already put his coat back on, smoothed his manicured bob, and was carefully adjusting his tall top hot back onto his head. He had shot his excited comment down toward Charlie.

Mr. Bucket noted the plural in that statement and couldn't help pondering exactly how many paintings of himself Willy probably had. Charlie would probably make a nice edition and…he supposed the coquettish short pantsuit would look appropriate in that scenario. Still, how did Willy get his son's measurements? Why had he done all this without the slightest mention of it to their family and what was going on before he happened to walk in? This wasn't the first time the eccentric man had given him reason to be suspicious.

Mr. Wonka was intently watching the brooding expression on Mr. Bucket's face.

"Charlie, why doncha go outside and wait for me, I need to have a quick chit-chat with your dad, 'kay?" A perfect, impossible to read smile defined his face.

"Oh..kay." The boy said with a hint of trepidation. Again, unconsciously, he rubbed at his left hand. What were they going to discuss without him in the house?

Charlie walked out of the door, Mr. Wonka's immobile smile never faltering as they watched each other. "Go on. Scoot! Show the Oompa-loompas what I gave to you today." He stretched out the word 'gave' and lowered his lashes towards the boy's fidgeting hands. Charlie was pretty sure he got the drift, but wondered why he wanted him to do that. Even his family hadn't seen it yet.

Mr. Wonka continued to watch as his heir headed away towards the Oompa-loompas off in the distance of the room. Then he turned to face Mr. Bucket, his face more serious. "So!" He piped out. "How are the plans for the Wonkavision satellite going?"

There wasn't much physically to Mr. Bucket, there never had been, but he was always a man of great integrity. He stood in an outfit based on the ones that the Oompa-loompas who worked with him wore. While he refused to wear a head-to-toe jumpsuit, he did agree to black glossy overalls with a colorfully patterned shirt underneath. His goggles were on the top of his head, causing his short, choppy hair to stick up around the strong elastic band.

"They're going fine." The sentence was clipped and devoid of any emotion but his own common British accent. He had something else weighing on his mind. He nibbled at his bottom lip, it was now or maybe never, this was the first time he and Willy Wonka had been all alone in a room. He knew his own family would not approve of what he was about to say, but as a father he had to do it.

Mr. Wonka stayed near the door, but he had gripped his cane, from where he had placed it by the door earlier in the morning, and was leaning into it with one hand behind his back. His smile was still in place, but his posture was tighter, bracing for an impact. He knew this moment was going to come sooner or later, might as well be now, particularly as he was swelling with confidence. He watched Mr. Bucket take a few steps closer to him, he saw the determination in the man's brow.

"Mr. Wonka," he started.

"Please, call me Willy." Said the chocolatier in one of the most falsely sweet tones that he had. His free hand made a graceful inviting gesture.

"Willy," Mr. Bucket repeated with disdain, "If you ever lay a finger on Charlie in a way that he doesn't like, if my son ever tells me something like that, MISTER Wonka, you'll have me to deal with. Have I made myself clear?"

'Ah, and there it is', he thought. Mr. Wonka chose to focus quite sharply on the words "doesn't like" and "tells me". Why, then the request seemed more than reasonable. Yes, quite fair indeed.

He had closed his lips, but they still bore a smile, "Mr. Bucket I most certainly would never do anything to punish Charlie."

Mr. Wonka's face had turned to exaggerated shock as he pressed a spread-open hand to his chest, "I mean, HIT the boy! What do you take me for?"

"W-Wot I meant was…" Started the slightly flustered father.

"Oh, it's quite clear what you meant! Allow me, to tell YOU, that I too consider myself a guardian of that child and would do anything in my power…" And with that he turned sideways and made a grand gesture towards (and beyond) The Chocolate Room itself.

"anything to ensure that NO ONE…" an icy cold glare was directed into Mr. Bucket's eyes. His voice practically growled at the end of the statement. "interfered with that happiness."

The Oompa-loompas hadn't stopped working, but their eyes now all looked in Mr. Bucket's direction; so many dark glittering eyes, projecting a deep dedication to the chocolatier.

Mr. Bucket swallowed audibly. He suddenly felt rather uneasy. He had underestimated Mr. Wonka by a great deal, a great deal indeed. Had he done his math correctly, he would have realized that Willy had the clear advantage. Threatening a man who's factory your entire family actually lived in was a bad idea. Threatening someone who had countless slave-like workers with a god-like devotion to them was an even worse one.

"Well," Grinned Mr. Wonka fiercely, "How fortunate that Charlie has so many people concerned with his well-being. What a lucky, lucky little boy he is. I think I'll write a poem about it and teach it to my Oompa-loompas to sing."

"Are we all finished here, Mr. Bucket or is there something else you've been dying to address?" His lavender eyes seemed to glow in their sockets.

"No, I…I think we understand each other." Although the truth was he was entirely uncertain as to exactly what had been said and understood.

"Splendid! 'Cause I believe we've both got a lot of work to attend to. Keep up the good work, Mr. Bucket. No hard feelings, 'kay? Tah-tah for now!" With that he exited the house, wriggling his gloved fingers at Mr. Bucket as a five-year-old might do.

As soon as Mr. Wonka's back was to Mr. Bucket his odd, cheerful grin changed to an obvious sneer. Immediately the three nearest workers ran to catch up with him. They had to walk at a rather fast clip to keep up with their aggravated leader, while conversing in the native language that only the chocolatier was completely fluent in. Willy's gestures and sounds were quick and blunt, annoyance was apparent even to a non-speaker; not even the more comical gestures had any humor at this moment.

Mr. Bucket gave thought to that as he watched the man from behind. Suddenly he felt very weak in the knees upon reflection of the whole incident and decided to sit down.

The chocolatier was not a man accustomed to doing what he was told to do, nor was he someone accustomed to not getting what he wanted. As a matter of a fact, he had amassed a fortune doing exactly what he had been commanded NOT to do many, many years ago. Since then, 'forbidding' him to do something made the desire to do it all the more strong. He was also accustomed to being told that something was impossible when he knew exactly how it could be done. He did not suffer from the same limitations of otherwise 'normal' human beings.

Willy Wonka as a whole, was a person whose brain worked on many levels, all at the same time; such a complex arrangement were his thoughts that they were often known to startle himself, much to his own amusement. At the front of his mind, Mr. Wonka focused at all the tasks at hand: the factory, supplies, manufacturing, sales, but at the back of his mind was young Willy; off calculating how this new game should be played. Mr. Bucket had given him what was to be interpreted as a warning about his only son, Charlie. Willy took it as a personal challenge and inwardly now wanted the thing, he was told he couldn't have, a little bit more. Mentally, he thanked the child's father for that bit of encouragement he needed. A ring was one thing, but a consummation of their new committed union, now that was another thing entirely.

His mind had been wondering in that direction; he couldn't help it, he wanted ALL of Charlie, he wanted all the things he had never before even dreamt about. Most importantly, he desired sharing something special together that no one else in the boy's life could give him and no one else could ever take away. The world had changed long ago, he knew that, he knew how people felt about such things today – he just didn't care. They were wrong, like they always were.

He had finally reached the little lad whose ears should have been burning by now. The small cluster of Oompa-loompas that were surrounding Charlie let out "Hooray!" in unison when Mr. Wonka approached, causing the child to turn around. The owner of the chocolate factory managed to instantly remove every bit of spite and malice from his expression, replacing it with innocent curiosity.

"So, didja tell 'em?" asked Wonka.

"They knew you were going to do this." It was part statement and part question.

The chocolatier was very grateful that his workers had kept his heir nice and distracted for the past few moments. He flicked his eyes to the three men who had been keeping pace with him and gave a quick nod, while responding to Charlie. Those three tiny men started whispering and gesturing to the ones who had been surrounding the child.

"Oh, they know everything, more than me sometimes. That probably seems impossible, but it's true I tell ya!" Willy was working out a lot in his head, so his eyes seemed a bit wider and more distant than usual. Specifically, he was searching for the beat, the rhythm that not only ran his entire factory but also directed him in life. He knew the boy would be different once he knew how to do that trick. He couldn't wait to teach it to him.

His wide-eyed gaze focused once more on Charlie. The child was much more than just a little boy to him. He saw all the potential that his workers did. It had something to do with the purity that flickered out of him; an unadulterated force that could be harnessed. He wasn't worried that he was going to ruin him anymore; he was merely going to add to him. If anyone could improve something that already seemed wonderful, it was Willy Wonka.

Charlie saw his father leave their house in the distance. He was headed back toward the engine room behind the waterfall. "DAD!" He shouted.

Mr. Bucket had put the goggles back onto his face. He turned in the direction of his son's voice in the distance of the room. He couldn't make out any sounds other than the rushing of the chocolate waterfall and the sucking sounds of the monstrous pipe. Willy stood stoically next to his son, one hand on the cane, one on the boy's shoulder. That was one of the first things he had ever noticed, how Wonka didn't touch anyone but his son. Charlie was waving happily at him, then raised both of his hands up, pinkies out, thumbs down, both bent together to form a heart shape in the middle. The gesture had been taught to him by the Oompa-loompas, so at the moment it seemed less than endearing to him. A silent prayer went through his head, that these dark thoughts were only that, thoughts. His son was bubbling with joy after all; nothing at all seemed the matter. Every day that passed seemed to make him more and more happy. Reluctantly he gripped the blueprints under his arm and returned the heart-shaped gesture. We love you Charlie, he thought, we love you so much that we all agreed to live and work with a mad man.

To be continued…

**Author's Notes:**

**If you read, please review! It's the only justification that I get for spending all of my free time doing this, plus you always inspire me and Wonka to come up with more madness. Even if eons go by, comments are always welcomed and acknowledged. Thanks to everyone, I'm working up the courage to do this sort of thing even more.**


	6. Volume 6

"Is It Scary" Volume Six! With more soon to follow!

Michael Jackson, "HIStory" Disc 2

slash, M/b, paganism, NC-17, dark themes, shota, chan, theidolhands, is it scary, fan fiction, charlie and the chocolate factory, the buckets, pedophile, pedo, willy wonka, charlie bucket

**Title:** Is It Scary, volume VI

**By:** IDOL HANDS

**Rating:** Demented Mature Audiences

**Warnings:** Mention of porn, cursing, suggested shota/chan slash, and some sickeningly cute scenes.

**Disclaimer:** The characters portrayed are not my property but that of the estate of R. Dahl, Tim Burton, Freddie Highmore and Johnny Depp. I blame them for this and so should you.

**Summary:** Charlie wants to know what Mr. Wonka and his father talked about and the two pay a visit to his mother where secrets about the Oompa-Loompas and the contest are revealed. Mr. Bucket starts up a back-up plan, but he's not the only one plotting...

**"We're all mad here. I'm mad. You're mad."**

Wonka gently, but forcibly, turned Charlie away from his father after they exchanged their heart-shaped farewells. The two men exchanging one last glace between each other before the chocolatier and the boy started to head toward the giant sea-horse shaped pink boat waiting for them in the chocolate river; entirely carved out of eatable hard candy it was one of countless impossibilities existing inside the fabled factory. The young Bucket boy loved how the light would pass through the chiseled ridges of its aquatic shape adding a glow to it.

Since it was only the two of them boarding, only half the Oompa-Loompas were needed; each clad in their bright blue jumpsuits and swim caps, with one designated man as the drummer. His heavy handed pounding would keep the little men rowing in a powerful, synchronized motion and whether to increase or decrease the speed. It was the exact same technique used by Vikings in days of yore. Mr. Wonka studied all cultures and times to find good ideas. He did not foolishly dismiss things as irrelevant merely because they were outdated.

Charlie unexpectedly paused before boarding. "We left behind all those dishes and food! Shouldn't we go back and clean up the mess?" He still thought like a humble, responsible child rather than the heir to a vast fortune and a palace of dreams. This was a quality that greatly endeared him to his family as well as his benefactor.

"My dear boy, all you ever have to worry about again is learning everything you can as my pupil. My workers will take care of _everything_ else, they're glad tah do it." Mr. Wonka carefully prodded the boy's back with the spiraled ball of his cane, motioning him into the vessel. "Now c'mon we have so little to do today and so much time to do it in!"

"Um, don't you mean the reverse of that sir?" Charlie said puzzled as he stepped on.

"I mean what I said little boy, now hop aboard." Wonka retorted in a sweet but commanding tone. He didn't like being contradicted and his mind was still irritated by the confrontation with Mr. Bucket from a few moments ago. He had known it was going to happen, but that still didn't mean he liked being challenged.

The boy stepped aboard the boat and tipped his new, little top hat at the tiny oarsmen. His next motion was to offer a hand to Mr. Wonka who was steadying himself aboard the vehicle while clutching his candy-filled walking stick. The boy had often wondered what the tiny pastel pellets inside the hard glass would taste like. One day, he might find out, but for now it was better not to mess with the cane - for it was a mere extension of the mighty man who used it.

"Mr. Wonka, what did you and my dad talk about?" Charlie hesitantly inquired once they were seated. It was really weighing on his mind, along with a few dozen other questions that he hoped to get answered today.

The beating of the drum man started up, adding to the rhythms of the suction device and the sloshing of the hot thick liquid river. The opaque, bright pink boat began on its journey. Mr. Wonka had almost seemed to ignore the boy. He was looking at him sideways though and had started to bounce his head back and forth, as well as tap his foot to a beat. Soon he broke out into a song-like rhyme:

_**We spoke of promises and we spoke of lies,**_

_**About dreams only half-realized,**_

_**Of what is seen inside one's eyes,**_

_**How wishes may fall from the skies,**_

_**But not if they offend sacred family ties,**_

_**Of those things that make my worries sigh,**_

_**For all my hopes can only soar up high,**_

_**If the nest will let the little birdie fly!**_

He had crossed his hands together and formed flying wings, flapping them thusly at the end of his prose. The Oompa-Loompa with the drum had been happy to oblige Mr. Wonka's physical cues for a beat to accompany the spontaneous ditty.

At first Charlie was terribly impressed that Willy Wonka was singing in a fashion similar to the Oompa-Loompas! How clever! However, the chocolatier's companion's face had fallen as the lyrics continued. He believed he understood what the man was getting at.

"You had a fight?" The boy said with great concern.

Mr. Wonka only lowered his head shamefully. Charlie concluded that in an emotionally difficult situation, his friend preferred to speak indirectly through rhyme. Maybe he learned the habit from the native people of Loompaland. Yet he still wondered about all those performances the workers had put on during the factory tour. Who _truly_ had taught _whom_? Now wasn't the time to address that though.

"Did you tell him about…our promise?" He had lowered his youthful voice, speaking near Willy's ear.

Mr. Wonka lightly shook his head, his bobbed shiny chocolate-colored hair swishing to the movement. The boy let out a breath that he had been holding in. It would probably be better if _he_ broached that subject with his family first.

"He doesn't trust me like you do." Wonka answered simply.

Charlie knew what an important word that was to the chocolatier at his point. He carefully put a hand on Mr. Wonka's velveteen sleeve. He felt more comfortable touching him now, but he still didn't want to overstep his bounds; his idol's odd lick aside (which he was trying _not_ to think about). "Sir, I'll talk to my Dad. I'll make him understand. They don't mean any harm, honest they don't."

The chocolatier looked up and sideways at the child, a weak smile tugged at the side of his mouth. "Would ya? 'Cause I don't seem to be much good at it and really, I need yer father; he's a valuable engineer. I got him workin' on my most _top secret_ project after all."

"He _is_! What is it!" The boy forgot the seriousness from a second ago in his inquisitiveness.

Wonka only responded with a secretive face; eyes upturned, lips pursed together, both hands on his ball of his cane standing between his legs.

"What is it!" He asked more pleadingly, tugging at his sleeve. The boy noted the weakening expression on the chocolatier's face from his sweet, insistent tone.

"Tunnel." Responded Wonka simply.

"Tunnel?" Charlie looked bamboozled. Then he felt the familiar plunge of the boat whizzing into the main currents. His ears were filled with Willy's laughter; the man relished the rush of the whole thing, _every_ time. He felt one of the Wonka's hands pressing to hold the hat onto his heir's head - Charlie hadn't had much practice at that yet. The boat twisted and turned like it might tip over for several minutes before finally coming to a graceful halt in the middle of the main arterial tunnel. A glowing smile filled both their faces.

"To the Children's Only Room!" Called out Willy with a hand up to his face. Then he turned to his heir, "I'd like to check up on yer Mom before pressing on."

The boy smiled, he only had a chance to see the place his mother worked once. His mind went back to that matter they were discussing before being distracted by the thrill ride.

"Tell ME!" He said with a mock huff, now yanking his benefactor's sleeve, which won him a quick slap on his hand.

"Oh, all right, ya squeezed it outta me. It's…a satellite!" Wonka confessed with an excited flair of his arms and a broad direct grin at the child.

"_No_ Way!" Charlie had picked up that jargon from his mentor.

"WAY!" Exclaimed the chocolatier. His speech punctuated with lots of gestures. "See, it's the only way to make Wonkavision work! We're still workin' out the kinks, but soon everyone in _the world_ with a television should be able to get a bar of Wonka chocolate! Just reach out and…grab it! It'll be pricey, but _what_ a gimmick!"

"Thas' amazing! Wow!" Charlie was blown away. "You mean you're going to launch something into _outer space_?"

"Sure am! And when it's ready, you can watch!" He giggled in his familiar jubilant trill.

"I bet _everyone_ and their mom will be watching!" The boy responded, eyes distant, trying to imagine the whole spectacle.

"Yeah, but not from outer space. That Great Glass Elevator of mine is equipped for space travel too!" Said Mr. Wonka while holding the lapel on his plum-colored coat with pride.

Charlie lost his composure and grabbed him in a huge, excited hug. He shouted, "I'm going to be an astronaut!"

Wonka was caught off guard, but he quickly relaxed and placed an arm around him. Charlie took advantage of the accepted embrace and rubbed his face against the plush material of his coat. The man was pleased that he'd managed to excite the boy. He had to admit, it was a part of the motivation to complete the project so quickly. That and really stickin' it to that Mike TeeVee brat. Call _me_ an 'idiot' will you? Fine, ya wanna spend all yer time staring at a two-dimensional screen, then live the rest of yer life that way! Hah!

In fact, Mr. Wonka very much wanted Charlie and the whole world to see him as more than a 'confectioner'; they should see him as an _undeniable force_! Candy was only the beginning…

"Wait'll I tell Mom that I'm going to be an _astronaut_!" He was repeating the word with more emphasis. It was one of the coolest things in the whole wide world and thanks to his mentor and new best friend he was going to be one!

"No, yer gonna be a 'choconaut'!" Joked Mr. Wonka.

Charlie laughed; he liked Mr. Wonka's silly banter, it made him so child-like. He often thought of the mythical candy maker like a kind of Peter Pan. Then again, there were times that he seemed like a Captain Hook too. He chuckled a little louder at his own thoughts – Mr. Wonka either in tights or with an eye patch.

The chocolatier had become distant again. His next statement was more serious, "Well, that is, if everything goes according to plan, which it should. I'm just bummed about yer father; I hope he wasn't speakin' for your whole family. I know I can't force them to stay and I know you'd have to go with them." He had deliberately placed his _left_ hand over Charlie's then closed his eyes in concern.

The boy's mouth was open, his delicate brows tilted up, but he wasn't sure what to say. _Would_ he leave? Why did he have to ask himself that now? Perhaps, because he knew more about Wonka now: his pain, the giant steps the isolated man had taken, and the special friendship they had now cemented. No, he wouldn't think about having to make that awful decision again. Instead, he'd have to do his best to make sure that he never _had_ to make such a choice. Mr. Wonka studied Charlie's concerned face, desperate to know what he was thinking in that moment: calculating whether he had played his hand correctly.

A sudden, quick pounding of the drum indicated they had arrived at their destination. Far down the river, this room required a special code to get into. Charlie released Mr. Wonka, allowing him to get up. He leaned over the bow of the ship and pressed the buttons by the unmarked hatched door with the tip of his cane:

"_Gliddy! Glub! Gloopy! Nibby! Nabby! Noopy! La! La! La! Lo! Lo!"_

Came the musical tones of the glowing, unmarked buttons. The code triggered the release valve to move counter clockwise, popping the door open and permitting the boat to pass into its dock. Who would've thought it would make such complex, whimsical sounds? It was stuff like this that made the factory and the man who created it impossible to resist.

Inside were the littlest people anyone ever saw! Clusters of them gathered around miniature versions of many of the facilities within the factory. This was how they got initiated to what their lives would one day entail, for these were the _children_ of the Oompa-Loompas. So fragile and precious, that Willy Wonka protected them behind the special code and inside an unmarked room, lest an intruder should ever enter the factory. The rooms were sectioned off into large, open cubicles that Mr. Wonka and Charlie could survey as they descended down the balcony. Most of the instructors were female, but there were a few older men too. The Oompa-Loompas were what some would term a 'sexist' society, though Mr. Wonka preferred the term 'traditional roles'. After all, as _caretakers_ and _healers_, the women of the tribes were highly regarded.

Charlie Bucket thought that finding a woman four times bigger and several shades lighter than the rest would have been easy, but his mother was nowhere in sight. Mr. Wonka inquired as to Mrs. Bucket's whereabouts and one of the women whispered the answer into his ear. The chocolatier knew all the Oompa-Loompas who spoke English since they always understood him and could usually answer without sign language. At least that was the way it seemed. Wonka let out a slight gasp at this one's answer.

"Is something the matter?" The boy sincerely hoped there wasn't any more bad news about his parents.

"No, no, not at all. Walk this way." Said Wonka with a genuine grin and a ridiculous gate that Charlie knew he expected him to mimic. Something had cheered the chocolatier up for him to pull that old joke. The child followed him and gleefully copied the dance-like movements down the small corridors, his heels making slightly smaller clicks right after his mentor's louder ones. He couldn't get over how _small_ everything was, like a dollhouse version of everything!

The children gasped and pointed at Wonka and Charlie. Willy stopped and allowed all the miniature people to gather at his feet, most no taller than his shin. He had pressed his hand to his chest and his eyes looked a little watery. The children's voices also ranged in tone but were higher-pitched than their parents. They seemed to be squeaking praises at him. The Oompa-Loompa caretakers quickly ran after the run-away children, chastising them, especially the ones that had dared to tug at their employer's pant legs. Charlie had a few admirers of his own. The boy was so embarrassed, but it was too cute to make them stop. He felt like Gulliver in his 'travels'!

Wonka started jubilantly signing things with his hands while making whooping and grunting sounds. The adults stopped trying to control the minute children. The crowd of children all stood at attention with their arms at their sides; their big, dark eyes wide with anticipation. Then, the chocolatier lifted up his cane and unscrewed the top.

"Charlie, give me your hands please." He directed.

The boy did so and Mr. Wonka began filling them with the bright-colored pellets, laughing as he did so, exposing nearly every one of his gleaming teeth. "Go ahead, give it to them! They're sprinkle candy made outta their favorite flavors: sour papaya, star fruit, passionberry, azuremelon and marshmallow!"

The boy's heart melted. So, _that's_ what the tiny candies inside the cane was for! How could his Dad have given his hero a hard time? How could he not see past the strangeness to what truly lay underneath? Then again, Charlie sort of liked the 'strangeness' too. Wonka's heir bent down and each Oompa-Loompa child politely took little scoops out of his hand. They had fists the size of human babies! Happy crunching sounds could be heard afterward followed by itty-bitty giggles. What could possibly be more adorable than this!

Funny, Willy Wonka was thinking the exact same thing about Charlie Bucket becoming initiated to this practice.

"Mr. Wonka?" A familiar, soft voice called.

"Ah, Mrs. Bucket, you found us before we found you!" Wonka was pouring more candy into Charlie's cupped hands, emptying half the cane of its contents. It was easier for the boy to bend that low then himself.

When the Bucket child came back up, he saw that his mother was holding five tiny, well-wrapped bundles cradled in her arms. Each was the size of a newborn puppy leaving more than enough room for all of their bodies within the human woman's embrace. So there _was_ something cuter than Oompa-Loompa children…their babies! The boy pressed both gloved hands, prayer-like to his mouth, over-whelmed with emotion. Wonka had a milder, but equally gentle look on his face.

"This is the last batch of newborns, Mr. Wonka. They asked that I bring them to you for your blessing." The woman stood close to the chocolatier, extending her cradled arms. She was wearing her usual handmade, patchwork clothing and the satin ribbon in her curly brown hair.

Her eyes caught her son's clothes. She gushed, "Charlie, you look so handsome! A real top hat and everything!"

The boy flushed a bit at this praise, but he was more focused on watching how Mr. Wonka was hovering his hand above each of the diminutive dark-skinned infants, how he was muttering something as he did so. It seemed to mesmerize them and they stopped every bit of fussing while he duplicated the process for each one. The sleeping ones immediately opened their eyes at their turns. His heir wondered if it was some sort of spell that was being placed by the man and his heart sped up at the mere prospect of that.

After the last one Willy closed his eyes for only a second before flipping them back open and announcing giddily, "Thank you Mrs. Bucket! You're doing a fabulous job! All my workers say so and I'm so glad that you like Charlie's outfit!"

"I do! Mr. Wonka you must be one of the most stylish men I've ever known! I only wish I had your flair for fashion. You have to give me some pointers some time." His mother said this as shyly as Charlie himself might. Her eyes were examining her own sleeves and apron ruffles with an uncertain expression.

Mr. Wonka took off his top hat and pressed it to his chest, he flashed a perfect smile at her, his strange lavender eyes glittering. "Why Mrs. Bucket, I think you always look charming. But, if you insist, I'd be _absolutely_ delighted to try out some dress designs on you. I'm afraid I can't take _all_ the credit though, my tailor, Pierre, is a _genius_ in his own right!"

Something clicked inside of Charlie's head. Pierre? He never met any Pierre. "Mr. Wonka, how _did_ you manage to get these clothes to fit me so well?"

"What?" He responded, a bit jilted.

The boy thought he might feign deafness or accuse him of mumbling (not an unusual response to a question he didn't want to answer), instead an off-the-cuff sentence came after, "Oh, I found ya asleep in my library yesterday and secretly had you measured."

The boy thought back to the incident and the cookies…

"Sneaky, huh?" He giggled and replaced the hat back onto his head. Shifting his eyes between them, he lifted his finger and stated. "BUT I did that for more than one reason! Mrs. Bucket, please hand the new little bundles of joy back to the women and follow me. C'mon there's sumthin' I wanna show ya both!"

Meanwhile, in the immense hanger of The Reverse Engineering Room, Charlie's father was having a difficult time concentrating on his work. He kept staring at the blueprints for the satellite but replaying the confrontation with Mr. Wonka in his head. _Had_ he made a mistake? Why did the candy maker become so angry if he did? I mean he didn't imagine that, the man threatened him and his whole family, right? Why had he let himself loose his resolve so quickly? What if the chocolatier was doing something awful to his son right now!

"Argh!" He should be _with_ his son, not working on this lunatic's new gadget…amazing challenge that it was. He let out an enormous sigh and pulled off his goggles throwing them at the plans.

Inside the concave steel walls lay the grand contraption, sprawling and half-constructed like a mechanical behemoth. This room was one of the few close to the ceiling and the outside world. Sometimes when there was a moment of quiet, Mr. Bucket swore he could make out the sound of a bird or perhaps even a group of people walking by. It was difficult to be sure though, for the factory itself was isolated a great distance inside those jaw-like iron gates. No person could really approach it without being granted access.

The small workmen inside were keeping a sharp watch on his actions; there was far less talking than usual and no singing whatsoever, which was _most_ unusual. He knew that they knew about the confrontation, _all_ of them; that somehow those few in the Chocolate Room had related everything to his crew like some vast network of spies. Without a doubt they would report his every word and action to Willy Wonka himself. These men didn't work for him, it was only an illusion provided by the famous man.

Mr. Bucket tried to pretend that he was oblivious to their attention, acting extra polite in an attempt to make up for his earlier outburst. Why was he afraid of such small people? Maybe it was _because_ of the songs; the lyrics were often riddle-like and dotted with dark humor, just like the man they were sung _for_. The slender engineer knew he couldn't keep this bottled up all day. He needed to talk to someone else in the family about this whole situation; he couldn't fight a battle against Willy Wonka alone. No one ever could.

As soon as he got a break, he stealthily wondered off to his office and locked the door. Mr. Wonka was a man of extreme privacy; supposedly he had given the family the same right. The Buckets had been allowed to have special, self-chosen codes to dial each other with on the videophones. Since he was an engineer and becoming more and more familiar with the wacky ways that the factory's machinery worked, he was fairly certain that the lines _were_ safeguarded.

The line rang several times, each time chirping out the first bars of the _'Willy Wonka Welcome Song'_ and making Mr. Bucket even more paranoid. Blimey! Didn't the man every get sick of himself? Again came the 'the amazing chocolatier's anthem. C'mon, pick up already! The father shouted inside his skull.

Finally the image of his father came into view. As usual, he was dressed in a plush bathrobe, an undershirt, and presumably his full-cut striped boxer shorts underneath. The slightly paunchy man was seated in a masculine furnished boardroom complete with ornate sculpted furniture like that in Mr. Wonka's library. The heads of strange beasts hung on the wall along with a never-ending digital tickertape of the stock market numbers. Several televisions were on and talking at once and a half-nude sculpture of Venus could be seen in one corner. Piles of magazines, newspapers, tabloids, and unwrapped candy littered the top of Grandpa George's sizable desk.

A pasty-faced man with sunken eyes, heavy lids, and thin lips similiar to Mr. Bucket's appeared, "Hey son, what's up? Wonka wants me to summarize _all_ the latest news from Europe today. It's a real pain in the arse, but this is still the best goddamn job I ever had! That crazy old bastard let's me come to work in my pajamas and those Oompa-Loompas of his bring me any thing I want. Get a gander at this!"

He shoved a chunky cigar into the view of the small digital camera. "Cuban tobacco cured with the essence of his own cocoa beans, comes from his own personal stash. Oh, it's absolutely brilliant I tell ya! I'll bring one home for you to try." And with that, the stern-faced old man put his feet up on the desk revealing an old, scuffed up pair of slippers. Grandpa George started to take a big drag off of the cigar.

"POP!" Shouted Mr. Bucket, _desperate_ to get a word in edgewise.

The silver-haired, balding man choked out of surprise. "What! You nearly scared the shite outta me! If you've got something to say son, spit it out already! I don't have all day to sit around talking to you ya know."

He put out his hand and an Oompa-Loompa immediately appeared with a crystal-cut rock candy ashtray at the ready.

"This is serious, Pop. I need you to ask all the OL's to leave." The lines around Mr. Bucket's mouth were especially deep with tension. "OL's" was the family nickname for the Oompa-Loompa people. Hopefully they weren't aware of that yet.

"Whatever for?" Grandpa George protested, taking another puff of the chocolate scented cigar then releasing a perfect circle of smoke.

"Please, just do it." Mr. Bucket said almost in a whine. It was amazing how, no matter what age you were, your parents always reduced you to a child.

Clearly, whatever this was about was important to his son, so he politely asked them to leave until he summoned them to return. As usual, they fulfilled his wishes. He bothered to give a quick wink to the female who was his main secretary. Funny, when he first met the little people it gave him the willies, sorta' like Willy himself he bemused, but now there was one he got a kick out of flirting with. 'Yup', he thought, 'still got it'.

"Alright, they're all gone son. What's eating you?" He was still leaning back in his leather covered swivel-back chair, most of his white undershirt visible.

Of all the expressions to use, thought the Bucket father. That was another thing that had somewhat disturbed him about the candymaker. Previously, he had dismissed that concern as far too outrageous to entertain. However, since he found himself on _this_ road perhaps he should put 'possible cannibal' back on the list. He started, "I'm worried about Mr. Wonka's relationship with Charlie."

"Don't worry, he'll warm up to the lad. The old coot's just a bit standoffish." Grandpa George was half-eying the videophone and half-eyeing a translated German television program. Apparently Augustus Gloop was still in confinement to keep him from consuming any more parts of his own body.

"No, Pop!" Mr. Bucket said annoyed, "It's the _opposite_ that I'm worried about; that he likes the boy a little _too_ much, if you catch my drift."

Grandpa George tilted his head downward and furrowed his brows. "Son, that's a very serious thing to accuse someone of. Wonka may seem a bit, that is…he likes to put on airs, but he subscribes to Playboy and Penthouse. I should know, I have to read it for him as part of my job."

Mr. Bucket found that statement distasteful on several levels at once and winced in response before bluntly stating, "So long as he doesn't do it in order to _show_ them to Charlie."

"Why? What's wrong with pictures of beautiful naked women? It's natural for boys his age to start to gettin' curious." He stated gruffly. In fact, maybe _he_ should bring home a copy himself. Working so hard to keep Willy Wonka updated about everything going on outside of the factory had done a lot for his vitality as of late. Wasn't hurting his wife any either.

These were _not_ the reactions Mr. Bucket had been expecting. When they first entered the factory his father was the man's harshest critic! "Jesus, Pop, have you been blinded by all this glitz! I mean he could be _hurting_ our little boy!"

Grandpa George took his feet off the desk and leaned into the screen. "What have you seen that's got you riled up like this? I mean, what proof do you have?"

The thin man looked away, "None really, it's mostly a feeling. This morning I had to return home to get some blueprints that I'd accidentally left behind and I walked in on them."

"Doing what!" The jowls of the older man shook from his exclamation, afraid of what his son was going to tell him next.

"Eating breakfast." He saw his father give him a doubtful look at that response, "but Charlie had _cooked_ it for him! And he was wearing this frilly little outfit! And Willy was standing so close to him! I got this weird feeling that something had been going on before I walked in. I'm telling you, something wasn't right."

"Hmm…" Grandpa George twisted the cigar around in his mouth. "But he's a germaphobe, he doesn't touch people, how could he be _molesting_ anybody?"

"He does touch _somebody_, he touches Charlie! How come I'm the only one noticing these things!" Mr. Bucket was practically pulling his hair out with frustration.

"Alright, alright, calm down." This was his only son who was worried about his only grandson, he had to give his words merit, "Listen to me, I'll talk to him tonight. You talk to the boy. We'll get this thing straightened up; make sure there aren't any shenanigans going on."

"Uh! That would be a _huge_ weight off of my mind, because I think all I did was upset him and…he's scary when he's upset." It gave Mr. Bucket a prickly sensation to have to admit that out loud. He sounded like an absolute child; being afraid of a man who makes _candy_ for a living with people the size of _toddlers_. Munchkins, I'm petrified of bleedin' Munchkins, he thought.

"Leave it to me. I know how to handle him." Grandpa George boasted while synching up his bathroom a bit more. "I'm a cantankerous old fart too ya know? He doesn't scare me. I'll be late to dinner though, OK?"

"OK. Thanks Pop. Sounds like a plan." It was times like this that his father's straight-forward, shoot from the hip mentality came in handy. The two Buckets signed off and went about their assigned tasks, each formulating how they would go about the rest of their evening.

Mr. Bucket was also glad to have someone else on his side. He wanted to try and get to the truth of the matter before he bothered his wife with any of it. She had already teased him for being jealous when he first voiced _basic_ concerns. Grandpa Joe was no help either; the old man practically sang Mr. Wonka's praises all day long like some giant, honorary Oompa-Loompa.

Back in the Children's Room Mr. Wonka was blissfully unaware of any such pre-arranged plans. He was busy showing Charlie and Mrs. Bucket his latest project. At the center of the play area for the Oompa-Loompa children was a regal statue of Willy Wonka in his traditional coat tails, cane, top hat, and Prince Valiant haircut. However, a new addition was being added! The scaffolding for a slightly smaller statue had started next to the original monument. From what had been completed, it was obvious that Charlie was the new subject.

"Oh my goodness! I haven't been in here all day. You must have started this only this morning." Mrs. Bucket was holding her son's hand and walking with him around the new statue.

This was turning into a very exciting day for the new heir. Giant pancake breakfast, Wonka's proposa-- ah, promise, the prospect of becoming an astronaut, and now his own statue! He protested, "I don't deserve this Mr. Wonka! I've barely gotten here!"

Mr. Wonka got that deranged, determined look in his eyes. His lovely features making the expressions on his face seem more pronounced and out of place. "Well maybe you only got here, but the Oompa-Loompas were already expecting you."

"Whatever are you talking about?" Mrs. Bucket said inquisitively, glancing at her equally confused son.

"They have these little festivals during the phases of the moon, kinda like big parties, oodles of fun!" He got a goofy look on his face and nudged Mrs. Bucket with his elbow, speaking softly, "Why do ya think all the babies get born in batches?"

She chuckled a little and blushed comprehending his inference that the small people must have all gotten intimate at the same time during such celebrations. It made sense, since usually they worked nearly non-stop to keep the factory going. The semi-monthly breaks must have been much needed times of relaxation for them.

"Anywho, a little while back they got to talkin' about this…how should I put it?" Mr. Wonka paused to rub the his jaw. "Like a divine soul, someone who would be my perfect partner and bring forth unforeseen prosperity. Yeah. That's how they put it."

The boy and Mrs. Bucket got startled looks on their faces.

"I betcha yer thinkin' what I was…waaaay too many cocoa beans guys, but then a little after that I got my wild hair. Naturally, I totally panicked! EXCEPT, I remembered what they had said about a 'partner' and I knew…I needed AN HEIR, that _musta'_ been the message!" Mr. Wonka had been saying all of this with complete enthusiasm and lots of hand gestures. Learing how to speak Loompish must have come quite naturally to him.

A few of the children had gathered around again and were sitting in the pleasant courtyard listening to Mr. Wonka's story. Charlie noticed that there were even small amusement rides for them to enjoy, plenty of things for them to climb on as well. Looking to his left, there was a boy who had climbed up to his eye-level and was comfortably sitting in a sphere-shaped resting spot. The tiny child waved at the mother and son, who politely waved back. The young Bucket boy wondered how many Oompa-Loompas were currently residing inside the chocolate factory.

Mr. Wonka continued explaining the historical plan, his eyes distant, "I had to think for a bit as to how I was gonna find this person. Then I thought, what about a _message_? A message that would reach _everyone_ who loved my candy? Something that would _invite_ such a person to meet me! Like a contest, everybody likes contests 'cause then everybody gets a chance to win! Next question was 'How'? By putting it IN the candy of course! The Oompa-Loompas also said that they foresaw the color gold, so I figured why not put it on 'golden tickets' to get the 'golden child'? Not to mention that IF the whole thing was successful, I'd probably make a lot of money. Since I wasn't completely certain that folks wanted tah see my old factory, I added lots of prizes too! Then, my next thought was _how many_ tickets should I send?"

Charlie was finding this as fascinating as the children. He was learning that the army of workers had some sort of _psychic_ abilities and a little bit about how Mr. Wonka's got ideas. His mother on the other hand, had a slightly baffled look on her face; eyebrows pushed up and her lips parted into a circle. The boy would explain it to her again later – she found the inner workings of Mr. Wonka's mind as confusing as his factory but she loved hearing stories as much as the rest of the family.

"FIVE, ya see, is a very special number, it's the number that represents harmony and humanity – if I was gonna trust another person then I needed to send a special message into the world. SO, there it was, five golden tickets inside my finest product, my candy bars. I only needed ONE heir, so I figured _that_ was plenty! Then I started tah sweat bullets when I saw who was winnin' them. I mean, those other bra-, uh children, probably weren't the Oompa-Loompa's bringer of prosperity. Then, right there, right at the very last moment…you found it. Lucky number five." The eccentric man's eyes were very wide at that last comment and he had bent down to look right at Charlie, leaning heavily on the half-filled glassine cane.

The dark eyes flecked with spokes of lavender scanned all over the child's face causing Charlie apprehension mixed with honor. A slight flush rose to his cheeks, why was Willy Wonka looking at him so closely? Why could he only hear his own breathing all of a sudden? Didn't the man breath? Maybe his own heart was just beating too loud for him to hear it. Charlie slowly looked away from the man's exotic gaze. He didn't want to be disrespectful, but he couldn't help it, it was so intense like being on top of a roaring fireplace. Yet, there was the glimmer of a child's eyes in there as well. That was his favorite part. It reminded him of his Grandpa Joe though his old eyes did not have the complexity of Mr. Wonka's. Then again, whose did?

A tiny round of applause broke up their trance. Mr. Wonka stood back up and took a little bow. "Thank you, but I couldn't have done it without you, my beloved workers…or you."

Mr. Wonka had turned his eyes to Mrs. Bucket to her surprise. "I—I didn't do anything." She protested.

"You most certainly did, you gave Charlie life." His voice had become gentle and he was digging into his coat pocket. "Earlier today, I gave your son a piece of jewelry made out of something that belonged to my…my mother. I'd like to give _you_ something of hers as well."

She put out her hands to receive the satin black box from his pocket that his purple- gloved hands readily plopped there. She carefully opened it and inside was a golden pendant. It was shaped like a curvaceous woman with her arms pressed prayer-like across her ample bosom. The broad hips of the figure formed a heart shape. She held it up by its chain examining the one-inch charm and allowing Charlie to do the same.

"I don't know what to say. Are you sure that you want to give this to me? I know how…special this must be to you." Mrs. Bucket could hardly believe he was doing this.

"Posilutely! You've been every bit the mother goddess to all of us since you've gotten here." Mr. Wonka sounded cheerful, but he looked vulnerable and was twisting his cane around nervously.

Mrs. Bucket took one look at him and handed Charlie the empty box. She put the necklace on immediately. Once it was on, she clasped it between her fingers again and said simply, "I'll treasure it, Mr. Wonka. Thank you."

"Thank _you_." He answered back with emphasis. His heir was beaming at him again as he put the box into his mother's apron then allowed her to put a big kiss on his cheek.

"Now, if you'll excuse me, your son and I have a date with my portrait painter, Madame Rose." He gave another little bow.

"A _hand-painted_ portrait? What a wonderful, old-fashioned idea! I don't know how you'll keep Charlie from squirming though, he's like you, bundles of engery!" She giggled. She had the urge to giggle quite a bit at the moment. Her cheeks were a little flushed as well.

The two of them headed back up the way they came leaving the overwhelmed and smiling mother behind.

"We'll hafta take the Great Glass Elevator for the rest of the journey 'cause its the only thing that goes to The Forbidden Room." He finished the statement with an almost ominous smile to Charlie's sweet one and took the boy's hand.

Charlie was more worried for his mentor than at the strange sound of the room. "Um, Mr. Wonka, you should watch where you're—"

**KA-THWACK!**

"-going."

**Author's Notes: **

**_"We're all mad here. I'm mad. You're mad."_ – Was said by the Cheshire Cat to Alice.**

**The number five IS a signifcant number which also represents _marriage_ and harmony of balance. Funny how Willy left that part out when talking to Mrs. Bucket, huh? Also, the 'humorlarious' (Simpson's/psuedo-Wonka reference) noises that the buttons made are thanks to a Live Journal journal entry by 'loony lucifer', where the artist/writer typed out the nonsense part of the lyrics to "Good Morning Starshine". I love finding new ways to incorporate elements established by the movie and as I wrote in my other fan fiction "Sweet Inspiration" (found here on live journal), I DO think Wonka would like all of those wacky words. **

**You'll notice yet another reference to Wilder's Wonka, but again, I gave it another spin. I also like to incorporate ALL of the Wonka's into my work when I can, because to me, they really are just one marvelous man in different forms. **

**Oh, and "posilutely" isn' t a real word, but don't bother telling that to 'the amazing chocolatier'.**

**Nice read for a weekday! This chapter is what I think you Slash people call "fluff", but I _swear_ there is subtext, I'm establishing plot and evil soon to "come". Hey, it's still Willy Wonka we're talking about and I gotta give all his sides a chance to "expose" themselves. OK, I'll stop with the double entendres. Here's to crossing my fingers and hoping that I don't dissipoint anyone though!**

**All previous chapters can be found in this very forum, so if you want the backstory just go back to previous entries! If ya likes what ya reads, I loves reviews. Your words nearly always provoke me to make the story better and dream up new ideas! If you're new to the scene and time has gone by, I'd still appreciate it if you took the time to say "Hi!".**


	7. Volume 7 Warning!

**Title:** Is It Scary, volume VII

**By:** IDOL HANDS

**Rating:** NC-17 (**BIG LEMON!**: but it's intrigal to the plot, up to you if you read or not)

**Warnings:** For dramatic themes, dark!Wonka, warped Paganism, **explicit ****under-aged slash**, CHAN, SHOTA, OC Oompa-loompa (but I think you'll like her), discussion of religion and Nazi's, slight discipline. It's cute and kinky at the same time. If you like that, you'll be in heaven, otherwise you'll have to suck up the bitter with the sweet or vice versa! Why not, Willy does? Ha!

**Disclaimer:** The characters portrayed are not my property but that of the estate of R. Dahl, Tim Burton, Freddie Highmore and Johnny Depp. Spare me! I beg of you! The fan girls made me do it!

**Summary:** Charlie gets more questions answered and gains several new 'experiences' while having his picture painted. Nothing is straightforward when Willy Wonka is involved! Oh yeah, and in case you didn't guess...Mr. Bucket was lied to in more ways than one! Double HA!

**"Down the Rabbit-Hole!"**

Mr. Wonka had once again managed to smack into the Great Glass Elevator. Whenever the chocolatier was particularly nervous, he had a tendency to become clumsy and smack into things. The elegantly dressed Bucket child attempted to help Mr. Wonka off of the Children's Only Room floor, but he bounced up before he had a chance to completely reach him.

"I always swear I'm not going to do that again!" He announced followed by a strained chuckle.

"At least you never bruise, sir." Charlie offered as some recompense to his mentor's embarrassment. It was true too; he never did show a single mark on that flawless, porcelain skin despite hitting the device full force. Most people would probably get a concussion!

"Yeah." He said a little distantly. Then jerked one finger into the air, "Oh! And it reminded me that I have one last thing to do before we leave." He twisted open the top of his cane again and placed it into a perfectly sculpted slot right next to the elevator button; immediately a new trickle of candy fell into the thick glassine tube.

"Alright, NOW we can go!" A great, broad grin filled his face and he once again took the boy's hand. Ah, and this time there wasn't any pesky guardian around either!

"Mr. Wonka, what's the Forbidden Room?" Charlie said inquisitively, masking his slight concern. He did trust his friend after all, didn't he?

"Why the room where we are gonna be memorialized of course! Which just so happens…" And they were both inside the Great Glass Elevator, doors shut, before he finished the sentence, "to be MY room!"

And with that he pressed the oddly located, marked button. At a rushing speed the elevator began to plunge, the exact opposite effect of pushing the "Up and Out" button. The boy gasped as, once again, Mr. Wonka only laughed at the effect; a rather eerie laugh that hit a faltering pitch.

The effect of the motion made his heir realize that he too had forgotten something in all the excitement, he pressed his hands against the glass, "I didn't tell mum I was going to be an astronaut soon!"

The candy maker was intent on staring at the ever-falling clear floor. He responded in a trance-like voice, "Hmm, that's OK, you can tell her tonight. Keeping a secret adds more excitement to it anyway."

The boy paused to think about that, one finger pressed to his mouth. Then Charlie's eye's suddenly shot open wide, "Half a mo'! We're going to-to YOUR ROOM? Y-You mean…where you LIVE?"

"Uh-huh." He answered casually.

Speaking further on the matter, he turned to face the child resisting the distraction of the plummeting view. He started to wave one gloved hand about in another small lecture. "I've never shown it to another living person aside from Madame Rose, hence the name. I mean would you venture into a room called 'Forbidden'. The ancient Chinese royalty used the very same word for all of their prized possessions. A severe punishment was issued on any common persons who dared to use or own such rare and beautiful items reserved strictly for them."

"Hmm, I suppose I could call you my forbidden heir too." He mused, eyeing the boy with a mischievous glint in his eye.

Charlie wished to goodness the flush on his face would go away right now! Why did that have to happen to people! Stop BLUSHING – he demanded, but his body only blushed harder in reaction to the request. He resorted to pulling the lapels of his tailored little jacket over either side of his face and turned away to act as if he was observing their travels. "Oh, um, that's very interesting, sir. Heh, me 'forbidden'? But I'm not Chinese! Heh, heh, That's very funny. You're very funny. Clever really. Um, er, It's just I can't believe we're really going to your room!" A forced sort of chuckle came out of him.

Shut your cake hole, Charlie! He thought and covered his face with his small, gloved hands.

A very telling expression was on Mr. Wonka's face, especially since he was safe from being seen by the desperately embarrassed child. Hm, he wasn't the only one puzzled by his own emotions at times. Interesting…and wasn't his heir's reaction most interesting…

Charlie peeked through the slits of his fingers and recognized some of the rooms flashing by, others he did not. The strangeness of their contents seemed to increase the deeper they went. At a certain point the boy had to assume they were underground. He had been too busy watching the scenery change to areas that he had yet to explore to notice his mentor. When he turned it was because Willy had been contorting his body somewhat and causing odd flashes in the child's peripheral vision. He gave his pupil a wild grin then stated, "It helps if I stretch out first."

The boy was about to ask a question about his bewildering statement when they were bathed in a strange grey mist. The elevator plunged down lower still.

"Where are we!" He said, allowing panic into his voice.

"Minusland." Wonka said slightly nervous himself. "You are never to come here without me. It's too dangerous, understand?"

"Yes sir, but what is it?" Charlie's voice quivered, he had clutched his hands towards himself; an unpleasant shiver ran up his spine and caused his skin to goose bump.

"A place for Gnoolies and unborn souls. I've had to come down here to rescue many an Oompa-Loompa. Each time I risked getting bitten by a Gnoolie and dying." Mr. Wonka said this all matter-of-a-factly in his quirky, instructive voice.

"New-lee?" He tried to pronounce the new word. "Dying? Y-you could have…" A desperate look shone in his eyes.

Mr. Wonka was deeply touched. No one ever cared if he died before the Oompa-Loompas. He didn't believe any of his previous workers did…maybe Grandpa Joe, but that was probably it, the rest were a bunch of no-good-knicks who could have turned on him at any minute. His eyes had gone far away while Charlie couldn't bear to utter another word. The boy didn't want to put his hero's name and death in the same sentence.

Finally returning his attention to the child, he tried to sooth his nerves in his best Wonka-like way, "Aw, snickerdoodles Charlie, I coulda died lots of times. I've been in some pretty crazy situations! There was a time when I thought I just mighta been indestructible, but…I ain't. Those little guys up there would die for me - least I could do was return the favor."

"But, what's Minusland doing in your factory?" Asked Charlie, more than slightly confused and still concerned. He seemed to be nothing but questions and a bundle of nerves at times.

"I dunno, it was here before I built the joint. Funny, Dad ustah talk about Minusland and Gnoolies, but I never believed him until I found it under my own home. Good thing it was here though or I'd never have found my lost workers." Wonka was still stretching out his body. He had currently bent down to touch his toes.

"How did the Oompa-Loompas get down here!" The boy felt horrible for them.

"Sacrificing themselves to perfect my most complex recipe, Wonkavite. It turned them into 'minuses' or whatcha might call lost souls." Wonka had popped back up to his usual height, a hand pressed to his chest in reflective thought of the little people's dedication.

"Don't worry, I rescued them all…eventually." He twisted the left side of his bottom lip down on the last word.

Although the chocolatier was answering all of his questions, he still couldn't comprehend half of what was being said. "Um, what sort of candy is Wonkavite?"

"It's not candy, it's…lemme tell ya about it another time, 'Kay? Alright, you got time tah ask me one more question kid. Shoot." Mr. Wonka stood with both his hands on the hips of his vest, as if ready for action.

The child thought quickly about all that had been said. He wondered what the tiny people made of life and death under such bizarre circumstances. So, he queried, "Are the Oompa-Loompa's Pagan also then?"

"Of course, they worship Cocoa beans." Wonka shrugged, unphased as to why the boy wanted to know such a thing.

The answer to that question only left him with another one. "So, they think cocoa beans are God?"

Mr. Wonka's whole face froze for a second. He gave Charlie a suspicious glance, then quickly bent down in his face. "That's TWO questions!" He stuck up two fingers like a peace sign. Then wiggled his eyebrows, "Time's up!"

Swiftly, he picked the boy off the floor, pressing him close to his body; the cane was gripped tightly across the child's back, his other hand holding the 'safety bar' in place. "I've only done this once before with another person and they were an Oompa-Loompa, so don't flinch!"

Mr. Wonka was much more strong than he would've thought! He didn't seem to be straining in the slightest to lift or hold him. That coupled with exactly where the man's other hand was, the one cradling his backside high off the floor, had set off his blushing again.

As soon as the doors opened, Mr. Wonka shifted immediately to the left. A bright blue beam of light struck the back wall where they had been standing. Charlie started to shriek! Mr. Wonka then shifted immediately to the right, avoiding a second blazing stripe.

A broad smile and a satisfied laugh followed. "Now comes the fun part!"

Charlie stopped screaming to look at his mentor's oddly grinning face, only inches from his own and found it rather hard to breath all of a sudden.

Wonka proceeded to leap out of the transparent elevator before it immediately slammed shut and whooshed away back up from whence it came. The man crouched down a little before talking a large leap! He continued to jump, spin, and dance-step his way across the long, dark, enclosed hallway. Each broad, dark floor tile lit up white as he touched it. He bounced to and fro sometimes retracing the steps backwards or sideways, before moving forward again. Singing a familiar, inane verse as he did:

**The wonderful thing about Tiggers**

**Are Tiggers are wonderful things**

**Their tops are made out of rubber**

**Their bottoms are made out of springs**

**They're bouncy, trouncy, flouncy, pouncy**

**Fun, fun, fun, fun, FUN!**

**But the most wonderful thing about Tiggers**

**Is I'm the only one.**

**Yes, Iiiii'm the only one!**

He paused to look Charlie in the face with the last 'line' (if the sounds could be called that):

GRRrrrrrr.. ooOOoooOOooooOOOO!

Then one tile suddenly lit up red. "Uh-oh. Musta missed a step."

Charlie didn't like "uh-oh's" from Wonka, they tended to result in things blowing up… or worse. "Oopsie's" were equally bad. The man jerked swiftly out of the way as an immense mace ball, as black as the hallway and covered in wild spikes fell from the ceiling.

"Whew! Good thing that wasn't the one with the trap door!" Was his companion's only comment. Still, Wonka allowed his face to linger near one of the especially long jagged points, examining it for a few seconds before doing one last spin followed by a leap sideways. Left leg extended, he gingerly released the boy and placed him onto a curious, dimly lit doorstep. The boy had his arms clutched to his chest and was completely fixed to the spot. He was also standing right next to a tiny, snow-haired old woman.

Wonka removed his hat and extended his pose into a bow. "Madame Rose."

Charlie turned only his head to look at her; no other part of his body would move aside from shaking. The woman was a bit smaller than the usual two feet of the average Oompa-Loompa. She also had white hair pulled into a fanned top notch, her eyes were milky blue and without pupils. The petit woman's outfit was a bunchy bright green dress that bubbled to the floor, leaving her feet completely unseen underneath. The gown was decorated with brightly colored spots down the sides giving her the effect of being a short, chubby caterpillar.

"Why didn't you turn off the alarms, like you did for me?" She croaked in an unnatural sounding tone. Oompa-Loompas were capable of a broader range of voice patterns than regular people.

"Because it's exhilarating!" Wonka beamed, stretching out his arms and grinning from ear to ear.

"Maybe for a thrill seeker like you, but the child is scared to death. He's barely breathing." She croaked, chastising her employer. Charlie had never heard any of the native people do that before! He also rarely heard them speak English so perfectly.

"Tsk, If ida scared him to death, he'd be in Minusland by now." Came the flippant response. After a brief reconsideration, he tilted his torso to Charlie's height. "Uh, did I overdue it?"

The child let out a whimper in response, followed by a quiet, "S'kay, I…I like how you scare me…remember?" A weak smile managed to cross his face as Wonka's mystical eyes did that trick of dancing in their sockets while never moving. Apparently, the boy had said the right thing.

Wonka forced himself to stand upright again, "He smiled! See, good as gold! That's what he is I tell ya! Madame Rose, meet my heir, the Charlie Bucket himself!"

"It's about time. I thought you'd never give him the symbol!" Was her somewhat sarcastic response.

"You knew about the ring too?" Said the boy genuinely surprised. This was another issue he had meant to get cleared up with his benefactor.

"Charlie Bucket, he was beside himself with worry. You were almost all he would talk about at times. I don't know what we would have done if you had refused him again. I am honored to finally meet you." The woman turned in Charlie's direction and reached out toward his form, only finding the boy's knees.

"Bend down so she can examine you." Wonka directed then cleared his throat.

"I did too talk about other things, just so ya know." It was his turn to be embarrassed.

Charlie noticed that his idol was slightly blushing which made a slight dimpled grin appear on his face. The boy obeyed his mentor, still too startled to speak much. The old woman's doll-like hands began precisely examining the child's features. There was something about her that was comforting and her touch soothed his nerves a little. Her face was covered in countless hairline wrinkles and the eyes were entirely milky blue instead of jet black.

"Are you blind?" He asked politely.

"Yes child, but I see more than most." She said smiling, patting his cheek and releasing his face.

"How can she paint us if she's blind, Mr. Wonka?" Came Charlie's sensible second question. He was used to having to ask such things. His idol seemed to forget that everyone didn't already know everything that he did.

"Ah, well, that's better seen than explained. Shall we go inside?" Mr. Wonka aimed a quirky grin in Charlie's direction.

Charlie looked about the doorstop; there were three small stairs that led to a platform which they were standing on. All of it was pitch black. An orb dropped down from a long, thin pole from the ceiling above them; inside was an eye-like orb that created a glow (and assumedly laser beams). On either side were large crystalline structures made of what looked like rock sugar. There was no true door: no handle, no joint, only a slick black surface like the rest of the hallway. Perhaps it lifted up or sideways like spaceships on telly?

"Where's the keyhole?" He finally stated, looking at the man in puzzlement.

"Oh, there aren't any keys to get in to this door. Close your eyes." Wonka directed like something marvelous was about to happen.

He did, but still felt a pair of latex gloved hands gently cover his eyes further. "Absolutely NO peeking!"

The boy could see only darkness.

Next a strange tingling sensation ran across his body causing him to shiver, followed by something like a wind, like something ghostly ran through him.

"Okey-dokey." Wonka's unique voice was a welcome sound since it proved that he was still standing where he remembered. For a second he felt like he truly had been lost in the strange grey mist of Minusland.

"Can we go—" He was going to say, "Can we go inside now", but the vision before his own eyes cut him off. He let out a huge long gasp of disbelief. The hallway that they had been standing in was completely gone. They were all already standing inside the most magnificent room he had ever seen.

"Welcome to The Forbidden Room." Wonka murmured from directly behind Charlie's head, keenly eyeing his response. "Whaddaya think? Pretty spiffy, huh?"

Mr. Wonka's personal abode was nothing short of astonishing! Entire chapters, perhaps epics could be written on singular objects that decorated or functioned in its space. The first thing that one would notice was that the entire room was circular including much of the furniture. The Bucket child couldn't look in enough directions at the same time; ceiling to floor, corner to corner, were beautiful, mysterious, and whimsical objects. One of the most striking was the preserved form of a horrible bear-sized insect creature; the sharp proboscis and multiple eyes were especially disturbing, but the patterned iridescent armor and spread translucent multi-wings were breathtaking.

Across the floor were very bold stripes that moved in vertical directions ending in points at five points. Quickly he traced them in his mind, realizing that there was a giant star across the room's floor. It was chic, but reminded him of something…a pentagram! That was it! Ooh, was the whole space enchanted! Looking up there were wrapped staircases that led to the arched doorways of other rooms. He could nearly make out what looked like a private laboratory similar to the one that was in the Inventing Room. The others were too dark to see into for now.

There were in fact many portraits of the chocolatier on the textured bricks of the stone walls. The boy's favorite was one with Willy in his jungle gear standing with all the Oompa-Loompas. The people were in the native garb that he had only seen in stylized sculptures. Oddly, they looked like they were still in Loompaland, but how could they have posed for a picture in such a dangerous place? Perhaps it was merely a work of memory. The frame around the portrait was covered in the people's native symbolic language.

"It's better than anything I ever imagined! B-but how did we get inside?" His eyes were wide and glossy with excitement and curiosity. It had taken him a long moment to finally respond while Willy drank in his reactions.

"Uh-uh-uh. That's a secret. Only I can let you inside, anyone else gets zapped!" The man formed a gun with his finger and pointed it at Charlie, one eye squeezed shut, his limber tongue twisted against his flat, identical white upper teeth.

There was that thought about being licked that Charlie had been pushing away for most of the day…

All of a sudden Willy stopped his playful pistol gesture, "Wait, you've been imagining what my room would look like?" There was a sly sound to his voice.

"Uh…" The boy didn't know quite what to say in response. Of course he had! That was a tad awkward to admit though, not to mention presumptuous.

The small woman in the puffy green dress tugged at Mr. Wonka's pant leg. "Stop teasing him. We have work to do."

"Hmmm." Wonka simply eyed the boy with a look of satisfaction that made Charlie feel like a bar of chocolate or something worthy of consumption. Then the chocolatier burst out with, "C'mon, let's go get her supplies!"

The boy was exasperated! It was simply impossible to keep track of Willy Wonka's ever-changing moods!

Charlie was led toward the dominant feature of the room. The huge, raised circular canopy bed with lush velvet curtains; currently tied back by over-sized tassels. It looked exactly like something out of medieval times. The boy noticed that the unique bed was located in the center of the room, which placed it inside of the pentagon shape created by the decorative stripes on the wooden floor. On the left side of it was a large, wide wardrobe and an equal sized dresser covered in jars and bottles, above it was a bejeweled mirror. There was also a roll top writing desk (littered with pens, paper, ink, books and toys), a trunk, and a few other pieces of furniture. What was strange was that there was the exact same furniture, about half the size, on the other side too.

Mr. Wonka had already halfway crawled under his bed, rummaging out an easel and brushes. He had been forced to remove his top hat, putting it onto the near-by nightstand, next to a lamp shaped like a cherub. At the far side was a larger nightstand projecting three-dimensional holographic images from inside the factory on a streamlined computerized device. Oh, it was all too good to be true! He couldn't really be in Willy Wonka's bedroom! He looked over at the smaller furniture that was near them. There were wrapped boxes and piles of candy on top of them.

It looked almost like he had once had a woman in the room with him or something. That thought didn't sit well with Charlie for some reason. He wanted to clear up the matter. "Why do you have two sets of matching furniture in different sizes, Mr. Wonka?"

His response was a loud - **Thunk!**

"Are you all right, Sir?" He immediately bent down to check on his mentor.

Wonka pulled out from under the bed holding an ornate wooden box with the cocoa bean carvings of the Oompa-Loompa people. He giggled nervously, "Yeah, just bumped my noggin is all.'"

"Anyway, to answer yer question, I had them made a while ago." He was quiet for a few seconds then sadly added. "Around the time I decided to have the contest actually."

Charlie put two and two together. "Was…was all this supposed to be for me then?"

In the same sad tone, he admitted, "Yeah, things didn't exactly go according to plan." There was another pause before he added with more optimism, "But yer always welcome to join me."

The thought alone made Charlie's blush return. There was only ONE bed. It was exceedingly big though; they'd probably only touch if they meant to…and there were those curtains to conceal them...and they were very deep under the factory…very far from all things familiar. He blushed more, tugging at the shirt tales of his outfit. Why did he keep thinking like that? Fortunately, the dim and golden light of the room hid most of his discomfiture.

Mr. Wonka tilted his head to catch Charlie's uneasy glance. In a smooth voice he informed the boy, "Anything that happens in here stays here. I'd never tell a soul."

That did nothing to help the young boy's rampant imagination. Neither did the man's intense stare. No one had ever said the kind of things that Willy Wonka said to him. No one made him feel so pleased to be anxious all the time either. Desperate for a distraction, Charlie quickly looked away without a response. He focused on the many lavishly wrapped boxes on the furniture. "Were these for me too?"

The boy stood up and moved toward the brightly patterned wrapped boxes: swirls, stripes, polka dots, paisley, even ones with curly W's. There were a lot of fancy ribbons and bows on them as well.

"Yes." He took a second to think, "Tell ya what, you can open one now if you wish, but only one. You know how I feel about spoiling children. Maybe I'll let ya open one every time yer here. Yeah! That sounds fair, doesn't it?" Wonka had also gotten up, replaced his hat, and moved up behind Charlie again.

"Y-yes sir, it does." Mr. Wonka had implied that he would be invited to his mentor's room often. The idea pleased him and again made him nervous at the same time. Charlie looked into the fancy mirror atop the dresser and at the image of his mentor behind him in their matching outfits. It was going to be a very good portrait.

"Maybe I should wait until Madame Rose is done." He said twiddling his fingers.

"Bup!" Mr. Wonka reached over and slapped Charlie's hands with a bit of force. He didn't like twiddling, fiddling, lollygagging, mumbling, gum chewing, vulgarity, rudeness or a vast myriad of other bad habits. There was a slight sting to the top of his hand, but it wasn't cruel, only enough to make him flinch and put his hands back down at his sides. It hurt more when the man used his cane. The boy hadn't told his family about any such acts since he tended to blame himself. He also didn't want anyone to know that he had ever done anything to upset Willy Wonka, ever. Besides, his mentor was right, they were annoying traits that he should be broken of.

"Very well." Said Wonka, turning on his heals and moving away towards Madame Rose. He elegantly presented the blind woman with her tools. The carved box was filled with tubes and tiny containers of colored paints in several layers. The boy loved the petite brushes inside; custom made for her minute hands.

Charlie finally turned around to follow his mentor but the new object that he saw in Wonka's room stopped him dead in his tracks. The wall facing the bed, where he had felt they entered the room from, was covered in a large, black, circular mirror-like object; its edges seemed to grow out from the wall itself – leaving veins branching out here and there. All away around, the object was decorated with a various sundry of things: beads, buttons, feathers (some were like the ones used to decorate his mini top hat), playthings, ribbon, bones, charms, exotic dried flowers, even machine parts. On either side at the floor were clusters of candle stands reaching up to various sizes and heights; their fires flickered every color in the rainbow. Behind that were the crystal forms from before, his eyes darted up and saw a large eye styled like an Egyptian drawing.

Madame Rose was keeping her gaze completely fixed onto the immense flat, smooth object. She was setting up her stool, easel, and paints by watching her own dark reflection. Nearly the entire room was visible in it, including Charlie and Wonka.

"What is that?" The boy said in complete awe.

"That," Started Wonka forcibly, "is a scrying mirror. The best one ever made."

"H-hu-but..why…" His eyes were darting all over it. He was walking closer and closer toward it. It was the most strangely beautiful thing he had ever seen…well, nearly. Had they really entered through it? Could one reach into it? It felt like he could.

Mr. Wonka quickly put down the items he had been holding for his portrait artist and ran after his heir. "Ah, Little boy!" He called sharply. The man rarely ever addressed Charlie in such an impersonal manner anymore.

However, the Bucket child was unaffected by the warning sound in his voice, rather he had pulled off his right glove and was aiming to press a bare hand to the tantalizing object's smooth surface…

**Whack!**

"AH!" Charlie cried out; that slap stung, that one was the cane. He immediately started to suck on his bare hand and turned sideways to actually look annoyed at Mr. Wonka. His face fell when he saw the stern, cold look on his pallid mentor's face though.

"OK, new rule!" Announced the chocolatier, "You are not to touch anything in my room without my permission! No touchie! Really, Charlie, I'm shocked at you!"

He gripped the hand that the boy wasn't sucking on, and pulled him away from the wall, back towards Madame Rose. A muffled, quiet apology came from the boy.

"Now you're mumbling too!" Wonka turned around and stared right into his pupil's face, one hand on his hip. His attention was quickly distracted by Charlie's oral way of soothing himself. The boy proceeded to pluck the offending hand from his mouth, tug the other away from Willy's distracted grip and safely tuck both of them behind his back.

"Don't be too harsh on him, Rescuer. He couldn't help it, could he? Instead of loosing your temper, you should realize how important it is that he was drawn to it like that." Said Madame Rose. Her oddly timbered voice seemed to once again critique him. Charlie also noted the name that she had referred to Wonka as, 'Rescuer'.

Wonka got a pouting, but thoughtful look on his face. He looked Charlie in the eyes again, pondering. The next look that slipped over his ever-changing features was a regretful one. He finally said, "Gimme yer hand."

The boy wanted to say 'No' but he wouldn't dare. Instead, he delayed, "Which one?"

Willy grew impatient and grabbed the bare one out from behind his back. Still holding the cane, which was doing nothing for Charlie's confidence, he cupped the boy's hand up to his mouth and laid a kiss on the swollen mark.

The man's lips were cool like his bare hand had been earlier that morning. It felt good against the heat of his wound. These were all very confusing sensations since he didn't like getting hit, but he did like the kiss and the fact that it even felt better because of the pain from sting. The man had closed his eyes and his lips were lingering. Eventually, he turned his head and pressed a smooth, chilled cheek to the same spot, looking his student in the eye again.

"I'm only doin' it to teach ya. One touch and the whole thing woulda been ruined. Don't be angry with me, 'kay? I couldn't stand that." He spoke gently and placed one more kiss on the boy's hand before standing up again.

"Kay." He confirmed, shakily, in Mr. Wonka's slang. He had been mesmerized, hit, apologized to (sort of) and kissed (sort of) all inside The Willy Wonka's room which he had no idea how to get into or out of... Charlie felt a bit lightheaded from the whole incident.

"I think you better have him sit down before he faints." Informed the observant blind woman. The chocolatier took her advice once again and pulled Charlie toward an ample, elegantly carved, antique chair with padded arms. Nearby were potted candy trees and mushrooms. The pleasant spot had been specially set up for the portrait that was to be created and a white colored powder (perhaps sugar?) formed a circle around the area.

The boy was grateful to sit down until he realized it wasn't the padding of the chair that he felt beneath himself. Looking down, he saw shiny black boot-shoes emblazoned with carefully placed red stripes that created W's on their tops. The shoes were located slightly below his new ones, his eyes followed them up to the legs that were under his own to the lap that he appeared to be sitting in! He turned his head backward. A pleasant statue-like expression was on Wonka's face, he flicked his eyes in Charlie's direction.

"I thought this would be a nice pose, whaddaya think?" He asked playfully.

"Don't move!" Came Madame Rose's voice; although she was shouting, she still sounded small. "Try to stay as still as possible, even with a scrying mirror it's no easy feat for a blind woman to see."

The boy fixed his position immediately, squirming slightly, which caused Mr. Wonka's lids to droop for a second. That was an interesting sensation, thought the man. So was all the boy's warmth pressed against his body, especially a particular part of his body. A few weeks ago, this would have horrified him, but currently it seemed like one of the best ideas that he had ever had (partly inspired by Mrs. Bucket's earlier comment about 'squirming').

Madame Rose was standing a bit closer to the black mirror than they were sitting. A stained smock covered her attire. The artist was standing on a specialized step stool that had spots for all her equipment as well as offering her a higher point of view. She was squinting and concentrating solely on the reflection, never bothering to look at the easel where her hand was actually sketching out their forms. Instead her hand occasionally felt around for the edges of the canvas before adding another few lines.

It was a marvel to watch her work like this and distracted Charlie long enough to make him forget about his current awkward circumstances. His mind was spinning a thousand questions, but he didn't dare ask one of them lest he offend Madam Rose for moving or Mr. Wonka for mumbling.

"The boy is still missing a glove." She commented.

"Oh right, Charlie put on yer glove." The boy pulled it out of his pocket from where he had stashed it before trying to touch the tantalizing mirror.

Suddenly his mentor spoke, "Hey, there's somethin' kinda showy about wearing only one glove! Have I ever had a picture wearing only one glove?"

"Of course not." The woman answered plainly. "You never take them off."

"Well I am today! Charlie take off yer other one, let's get a picture with the matching rings!" He reached both hands in front of his heir's waste to pull off his own again. It took a little effort to get those snug plastic gloves off and he ended up having to push into the boy's form again. The child wondered why he had paused all of a sudden.

"Are you alright, Mr. Wonka?" He didn't turn around this time or he would have seen his mentor's eyes were completely closed.

"Huh? Oh, right as rain! Don't worry about me! Isn't it exciting to do new things everyday?" There was a wavering in his voice that Charlie couldn't place, but he did recognize the pleased laugh. The boy took him at his word therefore and went about pulling off his own left glove.

Mr. Wonka had placed his exposed hand on Charlie's bare knee. "Put yer's over mine, but don't cover up my fingers, 'kay? We want Rosie there to be able to see Mom's ring clearly."

The boy did exactly as he was told and took a look at the dramatic pose reflected in the glossy black surface before them.

"Perfect!" Announced his mentor with great satisfaction.

Without a doubt, the pose made them look very intimate; more like father and son or grandfather and grandchild than student and teacher. For a mere moment Charlie imagined what it might have been like to actually be Wonka's child. To be born so special instead of having to try and learn everything from scratch. Then again, if Mr. Wonka had any children of his own, there would be no need for him anyhow. That would be sad; problems and all, he really did love Mr. Wonka. That was something else that made him glad he wasn't actually related to the chocolatier…that same new feeling that made him much more tense being in the man's lap than any of his own family member's.

Madame Rose had quickly sketched out their forms with minor details in charcoal. She had begun mixing up some basic colors, repeatedly tilting up the box and her wooden pallet toward the reflection. She broadcast, "You may talk now."

Charlie didn't waste one second, "How does the scrying mirror work! What does it do! Where did it come from? How come I...can't touch it?"

"Woah, keep yer socks on kid. One of the perks of this whole portrait thing is that we can sit and talk for a while." Mr. Wonka had slightly squeezed the boy's knee while he was speaking. His strong thumb pressed into the sensitive part of skin located on the inner part of that joint. It sent a tingling sensation through Charlie's own anatomy. That was a funny sensation, he thought. He wriggled significantly this time.

Mr. Wonka did everything to avoid showing any expression of pleasure, only biting a tiny corner of his bottom lip. This was going to be a marvelous exercise in self-restraint, he thought. He took a short breath, "A scrying mirror is an ancient technique used to see the past, the present, or the future. The tool has to be properly polished, oiled, blessed, and exposed to moonlight before it's ready to use. This one was put through a very rigorous process indeed and exposed to a moonlight of long ago and far away."

Charlie felt rather guilty for his earlier acts; his mentor was right to discipline him...

The mystical candymaker continued, "If ya stare at it right, you can get the answer to almost any question in the world."

The boy let out a gasp of wonderment. "Is..is that magic?"

"Some people call it that. Yeah." He said thoughtfully. "It definitely takes a special talent though."

Charlie's relentless questions started up again, "Do you see things when you look at it? Can you see the future right now!"

Wonka laughed at his enthusiasm. "Ya have to reach a meditative state first, kinda stare into space, then you can see all kinds of stuff. I even draw pictures of what I see sometimes."

"You do! I didn't know you could draw!" A smile showed up in the boy's reflection.

"I'm not as good as Madame Rose, but I drew that sketchy one on the left." He barely motioned with his jaw. Charlie couldn't quite make it out from his distance; it seemed to be a picture of an old, bearded man. He'd have to look closer when he got a chance.

"I had another one carved into a big bar of chocolate. You'll only see that one if you ever get inside my bed, it's hung onto the backboard." Wonka had said the last part of his sentence especially low and near his pupil's ear. He was rewarded with another shifting near his groin.

"I bet you know how to do things that I didn't know you could do either." He murmured.

Somewhat oblivious to the man's implications, Charlie admitted, "I did build that model of the factory out of toothpaste caps! I did a drawing of it too, but it was only crayon."

Madame Rose had ceased moving. "Child, when did you do that?"

"Before I ever heard about the contest, before I even knew what Mr. Wonka looked like. I still have them and the wrappers from my birthday chocolate in my bedroom." The boy smiled at her as well in the reflection.

The old woman seemed intrigued. She turned on the stool to face them. "That's…most interesting. And about how often would you say you thought about this place and the man inside of it?"

He didn't even hesitate at the answer, "Everyday! I had to pass it on my way to school and I would always stop to breath in the smells. I dreamed about it sometimes too."

Wonka got a proud closed lip grin on his face and cocked one arched brow.

"Yes, most interesting indeed." There was a kind, yet secretive sound in her unnatural sounding voice. She turned to face the scrying mirror, "Sit still again, please."

The work on their faces took considerable effort and they remained quiet for a long time. Wonka would hum occasionally and at one point crossed his own eyes, tempting Charlie to loose his composure. This Prompted Madame Rose to threaten to actually paint him like that if he didn't cut it out. "And you think the boy needs to be disciplined. Who disciplines you?"

Wonka responded by sticking out his tongue, which did successfully cause his heir to break into a giggle.

"Boys!" She chastised and they both began to behave again. Sort of, Willy was still enjoying the whole situation more than he ought to.

Once the entirety of their faces was complete, they were free to speak again, provided they restricted their movements.

"So, what's on yer mind this time Charlie boy." He couldn't wait to see what the child would want to ask him about next. He was thoroughly enjoying playing schoolteacher.

"Um…what are you?" Came his vague question.

Mr. Wonka felt the blood drain from his body. Madame Rose stopped painting and stared into the black mirror as well. He let out a wavering, "I beg your pardon?"

"Well, um, that is, you seem to be able to do all these amazing things that no one else can do." He stuttered a bit, unsure as to why there was a sudden tension in the room.

"That's true." He said, pleased and worried at the same time. The music sound was back in his voice.

"And you've been to all these places that no one has ever heard of. Is that because you're Pagan? Is it because the Oompa-Loompas are Pagan? If I became Pagan could I do it too?" His eyes were darting from the immense mirror to Madame Rose to the side where he knew Mr. Wonka's head was (even though he couldn't turn to see it).

The chocolatier let out what seemed to be a breath of relief. "So yer back to that again are ya? Here's the thing…I am Pagan, but there's a lot more to it than that! I've learned how to do things that most Pagans today have no idea how to do. Also, most people who call themselves 'Pagans' wouldn't like some of the stuff that I do, but that's too doggone bad, because I'm not gonna stop doin' it. Like I said, it's complicated."

"What type of thing wouldn't they like?" Said the boy puzzled.

"Ya see, uh, they got this big respect for nature and life and well…so do I, but I kinda think it could be improved a bit. I just help Mother Nature and Father Time along. Yeah. I mean, what's wrong with peppermint trees, candy grass, and lollypop bushes?" There was an almost sad sound in his voice, like his work had been insulted.

"Nothing, sir. They're great. Amazing even!" Charlie reassured him.

Wonka smiled a bit, then continued, "And I do respect life, sort of, when it's a precious one like yours, but otherwise I, uh, kinda wonder what the big deal is all about. I mean if I hadn't killed all those snozzwhangers, whangdoodles, and hornswogglers where would the poor Oompa-Loompas be? Dead, that's where! Heck, I'd be dead too! Am I makin' sense to you?"

"So, you respect life, but you believe in defending yourself?" The boy queried politely, rather caught off guard by these serious topics, but still hoping that he understood his mentor's speech correctly.

"Precisely, and most Pagans wouldn't like that, which is probably why so many of them are dead now too." There was no sign of remorse in his voice, if anything, only annoyance.

"Um, The Christians killed them, right? I read that in the book you gave, I mean, left behind." He grinned a little at his correction remembering how he had stayed up reading all about 'Alexander the Great' and the 'boy lovers' of Greece and Rome. He glanced at their hands being held together and shifted his position a bit closer, leaning very gently back against his idol's chest.

Mr. Wonka was a tad too caught up in the conversation at the moment to notice. "Christians did kill a lot of us, yes. Dad hates them, but he hates them for what they did in World War II too, even though he's no fan of Jewish people either."

Then he added flippantly, "Ahn, he hates everybody."

Charlie didn't want to bring up Dr. Wonka or he might get upset again, so instead he asked another question that had been on his mind. "Do you hate Christians? What about the Nazi's?"

"Pfft! There is a perfectly good reason to dislike people on an individual basis. I don't need mindless prejudice to cloud my precise judgment." He said confidently.

It seemed Wonka deemed this part of history worthy of a small speech, "See, that's where Hitler and the Nazi's failed. A perfect race is a grand idea! But, you can't achieve it by eliminating the weak with such broad generalizations. That's silly. The German military had some interesting ideas though, they were disciplined fighters, and they learned a lot about what the human body could endure. They were also pretty snazzy dressers, but don't tell anyone I said that. Yer not supposed to like the way they looked."

"That's why you have that book, right? To learn…how much the human body could endure?" He hesitantly quoted Wonka's own words, shifting in his lap again, though this time he was at an especially sensitive angle.

"Mmnn." A little noise escaped his mentor's throat. He covered it up by quickly adding, "Yes, that's why."

His voice was more breathy as he added, "You know they tortured children too. They did things like see how many times an arm could be broken and mended before it wouldn't heal anymore."

Charlie shivered, "That's the cruelest thing I've ever heard of!"

"Ah, but now we have the answer to that question and many others. All that crazy data came in handy with some of the side effects of my candy. I'll tell ya that much." It was cruel and awful and sinful, but enticing at the same time. Why was the dark like that to him now? Why did people deny its power? It even had the power to draw this angel into his lap.

He added, "Probably saved those kids who visited the factory. How else would I have known how to juice and pull a body back to its original shape…or nearly. There is plenty of information gathered about gassing, poisoning, burning, and bizarre surgeries too."

The man's voice didn't indicate that he found the subjects distasteful. The truth was that discussing such things sort of turned him on. That combined with nearly two hours of Charlie's movements and heat was finally starting to get to him.

"Madame Rose." He said in a pitch, slightly higher than usual. "I think now might be a good time for a lunch break, don't you?"

The small old woman agreed and said she'd be upstairs in his kitchen if he needed her. Wonka told her to give them a few moments to join her with a large smile plastered onto his face. She seemed very familiar with the space and only needed to extend her hand once to find the railing on the right side of the room.

Neither Wonka nor Charlie moved from their position as she left, both their eyes tracing her exit. After she was gone the chocolatier shut his eyes, enjoying how well his heir's compact form fit into his own and his scent; sweet, clean, something like bed sheets dried in fresh air and sunshine. The man's breathing had become more jagged and hotter upon the back of the boy's neck causing him to wriggle around again. The combination of both their reactions was creating a catch twenty-two of arousal. The two had never been this near each other for this long. Although Wonka had remained silent, the thoughts piling up in his mind were taking their effect.

The boy had finally realized what the firmness pressing into him probably was and twisted around quickly, shocked and embarrassed. His voice sounded flustered as he said, 'I'm so sorry, Mr. Wonka! I've made you uncomfortable. I didn't mean to, honest! I'll get up!"

Mr. Wonka's eyes flashed open revealing his extraordinary lavender orbs. His right arm reflexively grabbed the boy tightly around the waist. He spoke slowly and deliberately, "Oh, I'm not uncomfortable. I feel very, very good, better than I've felt in a long time actually and it's all because of you."

The boy stayed put, confused but also a bit flattered. He had been enjoying the closeness too, but didn't completely realize that it could lead to something like this.

Still holding the child in place, inches from his face, the chocolatier eyed his heir speculatively, "How'd ya like to try out some magick?"

Charlie swallowed, eyes wide, cheeks flushed, hands held down by the chocolatier's. There was a twinkle of curiosity mixed in with his fear. "Really? How?"

"Well…" He started coyly, "there's a special energy that can be harnessed from…" At the same moment, his bare hand had begun to clumb up the boy's thigh and under the leg of the hemmed shorts.

"…sex." He finished in the boy's ear, giving it a quick flick of his tongue.

A wonderful array of sensations were going through the child's body. A tingle had been triggered by the wetness on his the back of his ear. The smooth coolness of the caress felt so good against the increasing warmth of his skin and the way that the firm grip felt moving up and down his exposed skin. A waver of guilt crossed his mind, that maybe this wasn't right, that he should protest, but as that skilled hand climbed higher into his clothes, the thought seemed to slip away from him. His eyelashes fluttered closed as he let out a barely audible sound of pleasure.

Wonka took that as an opportunity to finally gave into something else that he had been fantasizing about doing for most of the morning - burying his nose into the crook of the boy's neck and laying his tongue across that fair, untouched skin in generous slick kisses. He undid a few buttons at the front of the stylized shirt to gain more access to his desire; pulling back the collar further to reach more flesh. The sensations caused Charlie to deeply arch his back, pushing into the man's lap again.

A musical groan came out of Wonka; one more worthy of a collapsing clarinet than a human being. Many of the sensations were as new to him as they were to the boy; though he had done far more studying on the matter…

The boy nervously asked through short breathes, "Should I do that again?"

The man's head nodded slightly, pressing deeper into the tendons of his heir's shoulder. Charlie arched his back and pressed down again, but this time he added a deliberate wiggle motion.

A deeper groan that trickled off into a whimper was the result.

"Again." His mentor pleaded, now biting on the sensitive skin at the nape of his neck. The teeth were as smooth as Wonka's touch and gave Charlie that peculiar sensation of pleasure mixed with pain. Now that the young boy was getting the hang of this game that they were playing, his movements became more deliberate. He began shifting and manipulating the muscles of his backside upon his mentor's erection. There was a certain thrill to being in this sort of position; he realized that he was in control of all the apparently pleasant sensations that his idol was feeling.

"Is that good?" He asked quietly after a moment, looking for reassurance, but suspecting that he already knew the answer from the hot panting and growing sensation against his body.

A horse sort of a whisper met the boy's ear, "Charlie…no one has ever made me feel like this before…the sensation, uuhhn, the..pulse…I want you to feel it too." With that the chocolatier switched his bare hand to the child's waist while the latex covered one started to fondle the front of the boy's shorts. Mr. Wonka found there was already some arousal, though nothing compared to his own. He doubted the lad had even noticed. Even in a sexual situation, he was still so intoxicatingly innocent.

"Uh!" Charlie let out a surprised sound of pleasure at his touch and a new redness appeared in his face.

"Mmmn, See? You see what you've been doing to me?" He whispered into the boy's ear again with longer licks. Then growled, "I want more, Charlie. Do more."

Now that the boy was truly starting to understand what he was doing, he began to create a rhythm with his body against his benefactor's.

"Yes, yes, that's it. Faster." He said in a desperately encouraging tone.

Charlie obeyed and the two became silent in their mutual lust, both of them with their eyes closed, though the black scrying mirror showed all. Within a moment, the candymaker had undone the front of the boy's pants and reached inside gently massaging his delicate manhood. Carefully, he pressed his thumb against the length of it while swiftly rubbing the other side with his index and middle fingers. This was both a carnal and sacred act to him – he was holding the most sensitive part of Charlie's body and giving him one of the greatest pleasures he could have, probably for the first time.

The boy had leaned completely back into him, rocking at the swift rate that he was being stroked; using the chocolatier's own shoes as his springboard. His hat fell backward toward the floor making a soft thudding noise. The child felt blissfully enveloped and at the pleasurable mercy of his idol. He laid his head against Wonka's shoulder in ecstasy, leaving his mouth invitingly open. His legs were completely tense, the slim arch of his calves evident as he pressed his feet down onto Willy's. The pose had released the tension of one sock-garter, leaving the fabric slumped around his ankle.

Having recently opened his eyes to watch the results of his actions, Wonka noticed the boy's position and accepted the opportunity. He joined his lips to the child's. Their first kiss. The lips were softer than anything he could have imagined. He briefly allowed himself to become accustomed to their shape, turning his head a few times to massage the pink skin at different angles before allowing his tongue to penetrate him in the ways that he was fantasizing about doing to the child's body. Such an act would have to wait until certain circumstances were put into order and followed. For now, this 'appetizer' would have to do.

Since he was so swept up in the moment and the sensation building inside, the boy readily accepted the man's mouth and tongue against his own. It wasn't the first time he had considered such an act, but he never dreamt his hero would taste like nectar. Charlie reached up his hands and knocked off the tall top hat while pulling Wonka's face closer to obtain an even deeper, tasty kiss. The demands of the thin arms and small hands were a delight to the man's aesthetics. He was further pleased when an intense shudder followed shortly after that. The boy had reached orgasm and a charming shout of bliss was released into his mentor's open mouth.

Wonka released his small mouth with a loud smack. The boy looked like he had been deprived of something; mouth still open, brows upturned, eyes a bit desperate. It was all unbearably delightful! He took a breath of fresh air then said, "Now, think of something you want to see and look into the mirror."

Blearily, the boy tried. He was panting and very warm. He wasn't quite sure what he wished to see, but watched as Wonka's hand had removed itself from his shorts with a clear, glossy substance on it. Had he done that? Was that his…? The reflection showed the man place one long gratuitous lick across the wet gloved hand. Charlie's eyes widened. What did that taste like? Since his mentor finished by sucking the length of his own index finger, he assumed it must be somewhat satisfactory despite initially seeming unappealing. He never would have thought to do something like that!

Wonka chuckled when he caught Charlie watching his reflection. You are my little doll, he thought and reached forward with the bare hand and dexterously re-did the boy's shorts. The child was feeling too light-headed to object or do the task himself. He only watched through sleepy eyes. Gingerly, Wonka shifted the boy's weight and stood up, a bit bent over, the gloved hand extended to the side (as if he were sparing it for something). Charlie also noticed the shadow of a long, upward bulge in the revealing fitted trousers before the velvet coat was swung in front to conceal it. He blinked; confused at the thoughts that sight had given him.

"I'm gonna…freshen up a bit. You keep lookin' into the mirror before the energy dissipates." His mentor whispered encouragingly, a halting sound still in his breath. He laid one last kiss on his heir's cheek. What he wanted was to 'finish' in private. Charlie didn't need to see that bit yet. After all, he was still getting used to it himself. It was the boy's presence that had started to cause the strange, powerful reactions in the first place. Also, there was one last new sensation to relish…the mixing of the boy's fluids with his own. He had been sparing the hand for something, for he had read that an especially powerful reaction could be caused by such an act: one physical and mystical.

The boy watched as the chocolatier disappeared into a hidden door behind one of the carved bookcases. Turning back toward the scrying mirror, Charlie fought off sleep. As his eyes blinked open and closed he thought he did see something. It was hard to be sure since so much was being reflected, but there seemed to be a small light in the distance growing larger as it trailed up a road. Yes, a long and winding road. It seemed to be running…or trotting? Was it a horse? It was! A beautiful white horse grew closer and closer, even its mane and tail were pure white. It paused in a field in the distance and turned sideways revealing a long, singular metallic horn. A unicorn? …how...beautiful…was his last thought before he finally drifted into slumber.

**Author's Notes:**

**The things this movie has gotten me to write! I may hide for a few days before reading the reviews this time, but I'd appreciate them anyhow! I can't thank those who leave your appreciation enough, it's wonderful to have people who enjoy these very strange thoughts that refuse to leave me alone until I fill notebooks (that could get me locked up!) and pound them out onto the keys of my computer. What an unusual journey it has been for me as well...**

**There is a lot of symbolism here and I am using an alternate or old, traditional form of Paganism in this story not to be confused with Wiccan. Also, this is not meant to reflect any of my personal opinions on anything; though I am attempting to do my research and be as accurate as possible for the sake of plausibility, I am also taking artistic liberties where it pleases me (Ex: there is NO scrying mirror so large, but if it DID exist seems Willy might be the one to possess it, no?) so please sit back in who or whatever's lap you choose and simply allow yourself to enjoy the fantasy of it all.**


	8. Volume 8

**Title:** Is It Scary, volume VIII (Who do we appreciate? Hint it begins with a "W"!)

**By:** IDOL HANDS

**Rating:** Mature Demented Audiences

**Warnings:** for dramatic and adult themes, alternate Paganism, under-aged slash, mild bondage, and randy characters.

**Disclaimer:** The characters portrayed are not my property but that of the estate of R. Dahl, Tim Burton, Freddie Highmore and Johnny Depp. Not to mention A.A. Milne from Winnie the Pooh.

**Summary:** How will the boy feel upon awakening from his sex induced slumber? Madame Rose has a lot to say to Willy and Charlie alike. More information of this strange, new universe is revealed.

**"Through the Looking Glass"**

The Oompa-Loompa, known as Madame Rose, turned her head at the familiar sound of clicking heels entering the kitchen area. There was a definite spring to them and the steps seemed especially airy, indicating that he was sashaying.

"Feeling better?" Said the minute woman in the puffy green dress calmly. There was a curl on her lips. She didn't bother to look his way, merely took a slow sip of her hot spicy chocolate after she spoke.

Willy Wonka's cheeks turned a shade worthy of her name. He was quite glad the scrying mirror was not in the room. He trilled out, "How did you know?"

Now the old woman turned in her specially designed highchair to face him, her milky blue eyes raised approximately to his level, her lips allowing a complete smirk to show, "I'm blind, not _deaf_, and certainly not dumb, Rescuer."

A singular and bashful, "Heh" was the response.

She dabbed at the sides of her mouth with a linen napkin embroidered with the flower representing her name and began to speak again. "It was probably inevitable; you are clearly drawn to each other. On the surface, Charlie may seem ordinary…

Mr. Wonka interrupted, offended, "No, he's not! He's special! Very, very special!"

She had to grin again, "I was _going_ to say that there _is_ something special _inside_ of him and that for you, he's just perfect."

This pleased the chocolatier significantly more. He pulled out the regular sized chair nearest her and twisted it round, so that he could sit on it backwards; legs spread open and arms crossed over the top. His cherry-colored lips had a broad, closed smile and there was a gaze in his half-closed eyes.

"You guys have been really great about all of this." Mr. Wonka said thoughtfully.

"Because we want you to be happy. You deserve it, especially after so much pain in your life." She put her dainty teacup down and aimed the oddly timbered croak of her voice in his direction. "_Are_ you happy?"

"Check fer yourself." He took her hand and placed it onto his face, which was laid upon his crossed arms. The broad grin stayed on his face while he closed his eyes and allowed Madame Rose to stroke over his features. Oompa-Loompas did not usually count as 'germs' in Mr. Wonka's set of personal rules, but this person was particularly privaliged for both her deficets and attributes.

"You are." She confirmed with a satisfied tone and far away stare, imagining how he looked in her mind's eye.

He let out a long content sigh, "Ahh, very, but I'm also confused and…and…something else, like when I think about the Gnoolies or…my Dad."

"You're scared." The white-haired woman said gently.

"Am not!" Wonka instantly protested in a juvenile tone.

The wise portrait painter removed her diminutive hands from his face, placing them on her hips. She raised one eyebrow and gave him a knowing look.

He frowned, then reluctantly caved, "Alright, I am…but why?"

"Because _that_ is the penalty of love; the _fear_ of loosing it." She responded wisely then took another bite of her chocolate themed meal. Every single item had something to do with cocoa beans. There was even chocolate in the sauce of her chicken mole.

Mr. Wonka's eyes bulged, his lips turned down into a clown-like expression. Her words had hit him very hard. All of the light had drained from his lavender irises making them look like a distant, dark nebula in the expanse of outer space. He barely uttered, "No. No, I…can't."

"Hm?" Questioned the old Oompa-Loompa.

He took her tiny hand again, but with a firm and unsteady grip this time; his insides felt all twisted, "Please, I _can't_ loose him."

She could sense how upset he was. His voice had a helpless child-like quality to it. She stroked his long chocolate-colored hair. "Shh…Shh…it's alright."

He wasn't wearing his top hat at the moment, which made him seem younger still to her. Madame Rose and her people were accustomed to Willy Wonka reacting in such ways though never before on such a topic.

"His father is suspicious." Wonka stated with eyes as empty as the old woman's blind ones. The expression was void of any emotion.

Her face showed mild anger, "Unfortunate, but not unexpected. Not without merit either, but his worries are misplaced."

After a few seconds, she asked, "Did you try the spell?"

Mr. Wonka blushed a little again, remembering how he had attempted the pleasurable procedure. He admitted quietly and with a little disappointment, "It didn't work."

"Hmm," she hummed, as she often did when in thought, "He must not be ripe yet. It'll be soon though, you'll have to keep trying."

A wolf-like grin spread over his face, "Well, if you insist."

Madame Rose was pleased that her people's savior was distracted from his worries again. He was not at his best when his insecurities were weighing him down. Perverted distraction that it was, it would suffice. It wasn't like her people didn't enjoy sexual activities. In fact their culture fancied themselves quite educated on the subject. Cocoa beans _were_ an aphrodisiac.

Now, amusing as it was to finally see their provider understand the interest - Madame Rose and her people were most concerned with Willy Wonka. They were concerned that he was vulnerable in his current state. However, they hoped that ultimately he would be made more powerful _through_ the union and therefore were doing whatever they could to encourage it. "He is special, Rescuer, but he is not _of_ you. You could mark him."

Then she gave him a look of slight chastisement, "You didn't attempt to do that yet, did you?"

"Certainly not, what do you take me for? Some cad?" Willy Wonka had gotten up from the table and started to open his own cabinets, pulling food out. The kitchen area was what Charlie had taken for a laboratory earlier; an easy mistake to make with all the labeled bottles, rubber tubes, glass viles, large beakers, centrifuges, sleek storage devices, etc. In truth, it served as both since Mr. Wonka's lab experiments were of the 'eatible' variety.

"Good, because it's most powerful when it is done correctly the _first_ time. Especially when that is true for _both_ parties." Said the wise, old woman as she ate a bite of the devil's food cake she had picked for dessert. It was a rather large slice for an Oompa-Loompa. What made Wonka's version special was the barest hint of lavender along with the special rich frosting. The cream in it was from Wonka's herd of special cows. They were fed partly on a diet of his own chocolate bars. It made their milk extra creamy and the whipping made the stuff light and fluffy before it ever left their bodies. Traveling the world had taught Mr. Wonka quite a bit about weaponry. He had become especially expert on the use of whips as the dedication to two rooms in his factory attested.

"See? I got _lots_ of practice controlling myself though…it _is_ getting more difficult. I mean, at first it was mere whimsy, then it was a sort of curiosity, but now…tsk, sometimes my brains feel like scrambled eggs these days." The sound of more items being pulled out and a frying pan being heated up were in her ears.

Madame Rose only chuckled in her strange vibrato, "Normal, completely normal. You can see why I never permitted _myself_ a union; too much sacrifice. Wait until I tell Jung what we have been discussing, he'll be so jealous!"

Mr. Wonka turned around from his meal-making efforts, "Eeek! No, don't tell Jung!

It's too mystical and-and…intimate. Besides, he's my _shrink_, not my _personal advisor_."

He held his jaw up with an air of command again and with a quick wave of his pointed finger, stated, "Uh, this is all in confidence."

"_Nothing_ is in confidence with Oompa-Loompas, you should know that." Madame Rose said in a teasing tone. She was sniffing the air, trying to determine the fragrances that her nose was making out.

He wasted an annoyed, unseen glance in her direction - it was true, they were horrible gossips. However, much like the unique tribe had accepted the good with the bad in his character. Wonka would simply have to do the same for them. Further, they grew and adjusted to his needs and even evolved within their new environment of the factory.

At first the tiny people were just replacements for the workers that he had lost, but over time, they grew to mean much more than that to him. There was a lot that he and them had in common, especially once he had a deeper understanding of life and death. Then select ones became friends and personal confidants. In every single respect that _people_ had failed him, Oompa-Loompas had succeeded. The Buckets could prove to be the exception or it could be only Charlie. Time would tell. His thoughts were broken by a small voice.

"What _are_ you making for lunch?" Curiosity got the better of his portrait painter.

"Oh, ah…nuthin' fancy." Wonka stated with a secretive grin.

Downstairs the body of a shoeless little boy in a fancy schoolboy outfit lay stretched out upon the top of a magnificent circular bed. Charlie had barely stirred from the distant whirring sound in the distance. His lithe body snuggled into the warmth and comfort that surrounded his body. He had never felt so wonderfully drowsy and peaceful in his whole life; it was womb-like as if he were wrapped in a dream. He snuggled into the warmth a little deeper. The boy was laying face down on something that felt like a cloud, like someone had spun the fluff from the very sky and made a quilt out of it.

"Hurrmm…", was the most intelligent sound he could currently formulate. He opened his eyes a crack and made out that his cloud was the shade of cotton candy. The child maneuvered the outspread fingers of his left hand through it. Was it fur? He thought back to his tour of the factory and recalled the round, fluffy, pink sheep. He let out a weak giggle. A deep breath filled his lungs with the musky sweet scent of his mentor.

"Oh!" His eyes flashed open. Mr. Wonka! The thought of the famous chocolatier alone was causing multiple reactions inside of his body, but the realization that he was on his very bed made him wake up with a start. The boy attempted to turn his body over only to realize that one part of him was not moving like the rest - his right arm. There was also the jingle of some kind of metallic noise. His two thin eyebrows immediately pushed together. A befuddled look, giving his mouth a cute frown. Looking up his arm, he saw it was cuffed and attached by a short chain to the headboard. The boy's jaw dropped from a shock that he might have verbalized if his eyes hadn't caught the very work of chocolate art that Wonka had mentioned during the portrait painting.

There inside the heavy curtained bed, looming high on the frame - it hung. An eerie 3-D relief of himself and Mr. Wonka in the Chocolate Room depicted a detailed, cartoon-like style. It was very suiting of his mentor actually: as was the disturbing element of the image. There was an etching of himself standing next to Mr. Wonka. The candymaker with one hand on his shoulder and Charlie's own face depicted in astonishment. Coincidently that was exactly as he looked right now. The other children who won the famous Golden Tickets were present too, but were represented as limbs and heads that had been absorbed by the Chocolate Room which was looking grotesquely overgrown and wild; more like a nightmarish forest than the fantasyland that he usually saw.

The one thing that really stood out was a single red spot being held in the wild looking version of chocolatier. The boy instantly recognized it as the 'Never-ending Gobstopper'. It was the very first gift that Mr. Wonka ever gave him upon entering the factory. It was even released to the public in his honor; "a candy that never lost its flavor, for children with very little pocket money." Those were his exact words. He recalled the man's insistence that he try it right away. How content Mr. Wonka seemed to watch him suck away at it while his new heir vouched for it's delectable flavor. He had in fact occupied his mouth with it for days as Wonka took him and his family on a much more thorough tour of the factory. Had he somehow inspired the candy before ever meeting Willy Wonka? Did Mr. Wonka _predict_ him winning the contest or did he…_sabotage_ it?

Charlie could only continue to stare at the complex work of eatable art. The child was in such a deep trance of concentration that he was caught entirely off guard when a familiar trill filled the room with, "So, ya ready for lunch?"

"AHH!" He uncontrollably shouted, jerking against the bed, rattling the chain loudly while trying to turn and face his eccentric benefactor who was either psychic or masochistically crafty. Either option was over-whelming especially mixed with the other feelings that recently ran through his body. The child's blue hazel eyes were now completed exposed and surrounded by white. The candy maker was wearing his trademark top hat again and carrying a full bed tray complete with sprigs of a tiny white bell-shaped flower inside a test tube vase.

Wonka only chuckled in response, "Sorry fer sneakin' up on ya, I was bein' extra quiet in case you weren't awake yet."

Charlie blinked at him, his breath a little rapid. He was confused by the welcoming posture of the man placing the tray onto a stand near the bed, juxtaposed with his current bound situation. He was feeling a lot more intimidated by him than usual.

Mr. Wonka eyed the boy's prone body as Charlie had attempted to turn his body around again. He was now face-up but his chest and back were arched upward as his right arm was twisted upward and well above his head. His youthful eyes were still quite wide. For a few mere seconds there was a very strange look on the chocolatier's face before it slid into something familiar, something...kind. The man formed a gentile smile and spoke, "Oh here, let me release you."

As if it were the most normal thing in the world to shackle a child to your bed. Reaching into his vest pocket, he pulled out his ring of keys and proceeded to lean over Charlie. The boy's chest was still moving like he had been running a marathon; the keen movements of his eyes could be traced in every flicker of his fawn-colored eyelashes.

"Oops, wrong one." Wonka stated, keeping himself in position while filling through the cumbersome ring once more. Funny how sometimes he would loose track of all those keys while at other times he could find _exactly_ the one he needed in a flash. Their chests were pressed together and his heir's mind was flooded with recent intimate sensations. Suddenly, Charlie was surprised to find that he didn't mind being chained up so very much. In the barest of whispers, afraid to speak he said, "Did you _know_ that I was going to win the contest?"

Wonka had just inserted another key into the lock of the wide, leather-lined cuff. He stopped moving entirely then glanced down at Charlie's face. "Whaddaya think?"

The child paused dramatically before answering with a question, "But how?"

"I saw _that_ in the mirror." Wonka and Charlie's eyes both traveled to the shrine-like image adorning the headboard. It struck his heir that the chocolatier's current grin looked exactly like the one on the Cheshire cat in Alice in Wonderland. So much for his father's comment that he was more like the Mad Hatter.

Strangely, such a mysterious answer made the boy feel better. Maybe it meant that Mr. Wonka didn't rig the contest, that he wasn't _completely_ in control of the fates those children ultimately suffered.

Mr. Wonka twisted the key, but nothing happened. "Strike two. Lemme try again."

Charlie let out a sound that resembled a small whimper, pulling against the bondage strap again. Willy closed his eyes for a second after that sound. He knew he shouldn't like this situation as much as he did. The man also knew that he had been trying to extend the moment for as long as possible. Who wouldn't have a hard time resisting everything that they ever secretly wanted?

The boy hesitantly put a hand on the arm that his mentor had been searching for keys with. He whispered again, "You don't have to lock me up. I'm not going to run away."

Purple eyes opened again and examined him, how _did_ this little boy manage to reach right into his soul like that? He covered up the seriousness of his thoughts with, "I just didn't want ya to touch anything is all."

Charlie didn't buy that or the giggle that followed, but he knew that his, uh…_mentor_ had heard his words. The way he was feeling being this close to Mr. Wonka made him realize that he needed a new word for what this person meant to him now. One came to mind, though he wasn't ready to use that one yet. It really was an _incredible_ experience, yet…

**Click!**

Seemed there _was_ a correct key to the lock after all. Willy pulled himself back up to a standing position, watching the child rub his wrist while he replaced the keys to their rightful place. He spoke a little softly with his usual grin in place, "I'll get a seat, you stay right there."

Mr. Wonka sat down in his nearby desk chair and proceeded to wheel over by use of his feet. It made him look quite young at heart. Charlie then watched as the supposedly full-grown man proceeded to spin around in circles once he was close again. There he went, wildly switching personalities as usual. What happened to the person who had studied him with that alien expression on his face? But that was Willy Wonka, bouncing all over the place, figuratively and _literally_. A lot like Tigger from Winnie the Pooh – no wonder he sung that song before they entered his abode. However, the boy had something else that he wiashed to address before he could return to enjoying their previous friendship. "Mr. Wonka…"

"Wheeee!" He continued to spin around in circles, head thrown back toward his curtained ceiling.

"_Mr. Wonka_." Charlie said more insistently, causing him to finally stop with a scuff noise. The boy averted his eyes and toyed with one of the garters on his socks as he asked his question, "Is what we did…wrong?"

A small, knowing smile tugged at the edges of Mr. Wonka's mouth. He responded to the boy's question with one of his own, "Did it _feel_ wrong?"

Charlie blushed darted his eyes to and away as he truthfully answered. "No…it…it felt really good."

"Good, 'cause actually…" Mr. Wonka wheeled over the short distance and leaned in to finish, "it was THE _most special_ thing that ever happened to me." He stared right at the boy waiting for him to look back up at him. He wanted him to feel those words.

As soon as the Bucket child glanced back up at him, he copied the boy's previously averted expression before gently adding, "I feel very close to you now."

The boy repressed how broadly he wanted to smile at that; the depth of his dimples giving that fact away. _He_ had given _Willy Wonka_ THE most special experience that he had _ever_ had! Little, unimportant, impoverished him? Not to mention he rather enjoyed the whole thing himself. Still, there was something else bothering him.

"I can't tell my family though, can I?" His head was still tilted down while he leaned against the many pillows and stuffed animals across the back of Wonka's bed. He had glanced back up at his benefactor at the end of his sentence.

Ick. The 'F'-word. He couldn't keep his upper lip from curling ever so slightly in a nauseated fashion. If only they weren't so important to the boy – it made his life so difficult managing them all while trying to groom Charlie for his purposes. He took a breath, "I'm not gonna tell you what to tell 'em, but _I_ promise not to say anything."

After a quiet second he added, "Don't think of it as _lying_, it's…a secret. Yeah! They don't _have_ to know, do they? I mean, you don't tell them _everything_, do you?"

Charlie had pulled himself completely upright and was petting a large stuffed cow under his right arm like it was real. It was 'utterly' charming! Wonka swore he would have to get a portrait painted of the boy lying in his bed like that. Just for him to enjoy. Hm, maybe _more_ than one…maybe a nude…

"Sure I do." The child automatically answered. Forgetting his caveat of Mr. Wonka's occasional discipline and the circumstances of the recent note that was taped to his ceiling.

"Oh, really?" Challenged Wonka, flaring one hand into the air, "When you were dirt poor and wanted a toy that there was _no way_ of affording, did you tell them?"

"Nooo.." The child responded slowly, wondering what that had to do with anything. His mentor being able to infer something that personal about his life also caught him off guard.

"And when your belly ached from hunger, did you complain? Every single time?" The candymaker continued. Walking his fingers across the bed spread and rubbing the boy's stomach.

"I didn't." He answered truthfully, failing to repress a chuckle at Mr. Wonka's teasing touch despite his concentrated mode of thought.

"SO, was that _lying_? Weren't you _holding_ something back?" Were Wonka's next leading questions. All said in an exaggeratedly simple tone.

"It would only have upset them to tell them those things." Charlie's gentle British voice responded.

"Ah-hah." Was Wonka's only comment. He pressed one plastic covered fingertip to they boy's lips in a "shhh" fashion. After a second he removed it and sat back up, legs crossed. He had proven his case.

"Hmm." Charlie looked off to the side considering the thorough argument with his mentor smiling at him as he did such. He restated Wonka's earlier statement like he was pondering it, twirling it around in his brain, "Not a lie…a _secret_?"

"Uh-huh, but only because we don't want to _upset_ people and because we can _trust_ each other." Mr. Wonka had motioned his hands in-between Charlie and himself when he said 'we'. There was a very intense look in his eyes again, but it wasn't the usual one for there was no smile or twinkle to accompany it.

A twist of the child's bow-shaped mouth, eyes tilted to the side, and a quick nod of the head indicated a form of agreement.

The twinkle and smile returned to his friend's face. "Good! Let's eat!"

The boy could give this more thought later meanwhile he had nearly forgotten that there was food! He found himself unusually hungry and quickly scooted himself toward the impromptu table. Upon a plate with a spiral on it was a plump hot dog, orange-colored French fries, and a tall shake. The shake was an odd shade of light green. Charlie looked up at a pleased and expectant Wonka. "Where's yours?"

"Er, I already had a bite tah eat while I was making this. You go 'head." He made a quick 'shoo-shoo' motion with his purple-gloved covered hands.

Unlike his mentor, the boy removed both of his gloves before chowing down. Willy watched him captivated. The boy had decided to try the cool shake first. He had to suck _very_ hard to get the substance only halfway up the long, winding Wonka-shaped straw. One side of his lips still attached, he looked up at Mr. Wonka whose expression had dramatically changed before his heir's eyes reached him.

"It's really thick." His voice was nearly a complaint.

"Yeah! It's better that way." Mr. Wonka said in a sweet voice, squeezing his eyes closed for a second in a cheerful smile.

Charlie shrugged, took a deep breath, and went back to giving the thing his all. His cheeks were quite sunken from the intense effort. The man in the striped maroon velvet jacket clutched at the seat of the chair he was sitting in, fingers curled underneath. The predator like expression had re-appeared. All he could think was that he couldn't wait to watch the boy wrap those same lips around the large hot dog. Who knew his genius could be applied in such new and marvelous ways?

The child had finally achieved a taste of the substance only to react with a slightly repulsed look on his face. He reluctantly wiped the flavor off the roof of his mouth with his tongue, resisting the intense urge to say 'Blech'. "Wot _flavor_ of ice cream is this?"

"Brussel sprout." Answered Mr. Wonka immediately. "Figured ya oughta' get some veggies into yer system."

The boy's expression got a bit worse, "Mr. Wonka, I'd rather eat _real_ vegetables than _ice creamed_ ones. Do you like this then?"

"Uh, actually, no." His smile fell. "I think it's pretty gross too. I was hopin' you would though, since I gotta whole _room_ fulla' the junk that I don't know what to do with. It was one of those flops that I came up with before you moved in."

He felt a bit guilty for causing the man to create such a terrible flavor. The child said off the top of his head. "You could sell it as a gag gift. People could buy it for their enemies and pretend that it was pistachio."

Wonka put a hand to his chin, a comical pondering expression accompanied it. "Ya know that ain't a bad idea. Yer gettin' real good at this partner thing. Hm, maybe I'll send a pint to my not-so-friendly competitors. Let the scoundrels steal _that_ recipe! Ha!"

The boy smiled proudly at that and picked up the sausage in its fluffy bun. Wonka's eyes lit up again and his mouth stayed slightly parted with a look of anticipation.

Just before placing it into his mouth, his heir paused and looked at him. "Is there anything weird about _this_ that I should know about?"

"The ketchup looks like mustard and the mustard looks like ketchup." The candymaker replied while pointing a finger toward the substances.

Charlie could only blink at him before laughing out loud. Only Willy Wonka would create something so absurd and unnecessary! The man added his own trickle of amusement. As their chuckles wore out the boy added, "It won't put me to sleep, will it?"

_That_ took Mr. Wonka _completely_ aback, his hand recoiled as he clenched his perfectly flat teeth. His heir's face became apprehensive; he hadn't meant to deliberately disturb the joyful mood.

"Rescuer, there is a call on the line for you; a _private_ call." Interrupted Madame Rose from the top of the staircase.

Willy dropped his hand to his side and stood up robotically. He raised one eyebrow before speaking without much inflection, "Uh, no, it will not, but you might want to avoid eating the flower…although quite beautiful, _every_ part of the Lily of the Valley plant is _extremely_ poisonous. Won't you excuse me for a moment?"

He did not look back towards Charlie as he ascended the spiral stairs again, a tall heel clanking with each step upon their metal surface. Once he reached the top he bent down low and whispered something into the diminutive Oompa-Loompa's ear, then listened as she did the same to him. Once Mr. Wonka entered the upstairs rooms, she started her way down the less steep set of stairs alongside it; a smile aimed toward his heir as she did so.

Charlie watched as she gripped one side of her green spotted dress, keeping it from bundling under her feet, but not exposing them either: only moving lumps appeared as she took her methodical steps. It looked cute to the boy and he managed a small smile back in her direction.

Madame Rose had to have a private chuckle as the boy took a sullen bite off of his hot dog. With the aid of the planaterium-sized scrying mirror in the room, she could now _see_ in its reflection what the man had prepared for his pupil. Shameless, but she supposed they could excuse him a few indulgences since he'd never been through anything like this before. It was also a bit funny to see Willy Wonka behave in such a manner and Loompas loved strange humor.

Once she was closer to Charlie she stated, "You mustn't spoil his games. He hates that. Why he locked himself up for _half a day_ in the Tantrum Room after the one called 'Mike Teevee' cracked his code for the contest."

Humble chews and a guilty look returned her words. "I only wanted to stay awake to see more amazing things. I wasn't mad at him or anything."

Madame Rose reached out and patted one of his dangling legs. "Of course. He's just being a big baby."

The boy grinned at that and took another, this time heartier bite of his meal. The French fries turned out to be made out of sweet potatoes and were quite tasty, especially dipped in the _yellow_ ketchup. Maybe he could take a bottle of it home to surprise his family with. That would be better to talk about then certain other events…

"There is something else I would like to tell you while he is out of the room. Myself and the other Oompa-Loompas are very pleased about your…_union_ with our Rescuer. We will do whatever we can to help the two of you." Her voice kept its croaking sound as she spoke in a slow and gentle way. It reminded him of his mother but with a far deeper wisdom in the manner.

Charlie gave her a nervous glance before realizing that she couldn't see his expression. Was she trying to say that the tiny people knew _how_ close the two of them had started to become? He decided to play it safe with a simple, "Thank you."

"That being said," she continued "I want you to know that we think Willy Wonka is _very_ special."

"So do I!" Charlie said with great enthusiasm.

The woman's lips pursed a smile. "Yes, but you must be careful how you express that. Your mentor is sensitive about being different from other people. It has bothered him for most of his life."

The boy looked very thoughtful, "He _isn't_ like other people though. That's not a bad thing."

"No, he isn't and you're right, it's not a bad thing." She smiled more broadly. Everyone kept calling this boy the lucky one, but it was the famous chocolate maker who had really gotten lucky finding someone as big-hearted as this Charlie Bucket.

"I'm trying to say something to you without using certain words. Allow me to rephrase myself. _All_ Willy Wonka wants to be is a _very_ smart and well-liked _man_, nothing more. He doesn't want to be what your people call…a freak." She wished she could truly look into the boy's eyes at that moment. However, the old woman preferred to face him, rather than the mirror, while she spoke such important words.

A welling of compassion on his heir's face was what she would have seen. "People called him that! How could they be so cruel? So bli--"

The child managed to stop himself before using the word 'blind' to describe what he felt was a foolish, misguided way of looking at his hero. He would have been quite embarrassed to use the word so casually in front of someone with the condition.

"They've said and _done_ a lot worse." Her voice was reduced to more of a whisper. "What do you think your people would call my people? We heard the _other_ contest winners call _us_ that very same word. The Rescuer knows that we cannot leave this factory for more reasons than simply the harsh weather outside. I believe he imposes the same penalty of isolation onto himself. He truly feels bad that his world probably wouldn't accept us. Together, we have done our best to create our _own_ world; maybe an even better one."

The boy was taking the barest nibbles on one of the orange fried potatoes sticks, processing her words. So, it wasn't merely an extremely anti-social nature that kept Mr. Wonka locked up – it was a type of loyalty to the Oompa-Loompas as well.

Madame Rose cocked her head to the side when she heard the child sniffle. "Charlie?"

"He's been hurt very badly by the world, hasn't he?" Said his heir in a trembling voice while wiping a tear off his cheek.

"Yes, very badly child. He is rather sensitive and the world can be very cruel. I believe all the pain in his life has even wounded his soul. Therefore, I beg that you forgive him when he misbehaves or loses his temper." Again she reached to touch him.

Charlie hopped off of the bed and knelt down to her height. He reached out and placed a hand no bigger than a toddler's to his small ring. "I've already promised to do that."

Madame Rose felt the thin, notched band that she had known the man wanted to give him. With her other hand she patted the boy's slightly damp, round cheek. "My people call Willy Wonka, Rescuer. We have a second name for you as well…it's, _Restorer_."

A look of awe formed on the boy's face.

"You two better not be gettin' in cahoots against me." Came another unique, but familiar voice from the stairs. It was worthy of note how quiet he could be when he _wanted_ to be for neither party had heard him descend.

"You can strike that and reverse it. We're getting in 'cahoots' _for_ you." Retorted his portrait painter and personal advisor.

The boy sprang up and ran over to Mr. Wonka in his stocking feet. His benefactor was carrying another small tray with another shake on it, keeping Charlie from attacking him with the giant hug that was now bottled up inside.

The mad hatter of chocolate started to nervously explain himself while shoving the object toward his pupil, "Here! I felt bad about my last one, so I made ya a better milkshake this time. My _favorite_ one actually – banana split! See, it has swirls of vanilla, chocolate, and strawberry with ribbons of syrup in banana, fudge, marshmallow, super-berry, and pineapple all swirled up inside. Then I add my whip cream, mixed nuts, and for you…a gummy cherry on top! It's everything you'd want and more!"

Charlie had taken it with a look of complete admiration. It was a work of frozen art! Then something dawned on the boy - this was probably a kind of confectionary 'peace offering'. He got a private little grin on his face. "This was very nice of you."

"You could eat it while I'm givin' ya the tour…of my _room_ that is." And with that Willy Wonka began to completely distract Charlie from who or what it was that he had been communicating with or on. Madame Rose saw the chocolatier make a few gestures in the mirror while the boy was taking in the vast self-playing pipe organ. His last gesture was a simple "OK" symbol.

"I want to see more drawings!" Charlie bubbled. Sugar was a good thing. He licked off a smear of fudge off of his spoon. The substance _was_ hot despite the ice-cold temperature of the flavored swirls. Magically, it didn't melt the rest of the dessert and all the colors perfectly held their soft shape against the sleek glass. It shouldn't have been possible, but there it was. And it was unbelievably delicious.

"Okey-Dokey." Wonka walked over to the side of the black mirror where he had posted up many of his sketches – some being far more abstract than others.

"Wot's this one?" He gestured his head towards a sheet covered in random swipes of paint with splatters of color.

"I dunno." He stated, twisting his head all the way to the left, and causing his bob to tilt. "Sometimes, I try to paint blindfolded like Madame Rose. I mean, if she don't need eyesight to see visions, why should I?"

Charlie took in that idea while the chocolatier adjusted the drawing a few times.

"I think it's upside down." He stated, then frowned, "Or…maybe not."

The boy leaned in to study the one that had caught his eye from across the room. It was sketchy with only a few violent brushes of color detailing it. Charlie instantly recognized the factory in the background, but not the windmills. He was uncertain of the identity of the man drawn at the front of the paper. It looked almost like Mr. Wonka, but the form was depicted as being quite old: wrinkled with wiry hair stuck out of the top hat along with a goatee. One gloved hand clutched a lance made out of a hodgepodge of scrap yard material. The form wore an equally mismatched jumble of armor on top of the elegant outfit. He also had wide eyes, dotted with a splash of red & blue to form the allegory of purple; most of the illustrations were monochromatic in style with such bold splashes of color.

"This is you, isn't it?" The boy hesitantly guessed.

"Uh-huh, self-portrait of sorts. I drew it back when I only had one shop. It was an exploration of aspiration, a formulation of my inspiration, far before the _materialization_ of our hybridization." He riddled eloquently.

That sentence caused a very confused look to cross Charlie's face.

"Sorry, couldn't resist the condensation of my alliteration." Was followed by a strained giggle and a clasping of squeaky hands.

The Bucket child swore he was never going to be this kind of witty. He concentrated and attempted to copy the method, "I require more explanation as to your…depreciation?"

It was his mentor's turn to look confused.

"Um, that is, why do you look so _old_ in the picture?" He was resisting every urge to reach out and touch the picture or the fantastically glossy surface of the mirror's edge that he was standing near.

"Oooh. That was a good try though!" He responded sincerely. It was nice to have someone who wanted to mimic him all the time. It beat the daylights out of being made fun of for being different. He continued, "Simple, I wanted to show my desire to grow to be very old and very wise."

"Wot about these?" The child pointed toward but deliberately did not touch a certain element in the drawing.

"Those are the 'windmills of my mind' of course. They're uh…symbolic, part of a really good song and a pretty good play too." A far away look came across his features. He was standing in the room but his mind wasn't there anymore.

"What do unicorns represent, Mr. Wonka?" Asked Charlie leaning cautiously toward the chocolatier.

The man half-snapped out of his trance. "Wha? Unicorns?"

"I thought I saw one in the mirror before I fell asleep." His heir admitted twisting the long silver spoon through the remnants of his treat creating a spiral of the colors.

Mr. Wonka immediately placed a hand on either one of the boy's slim shoulders, "It worked! Ya see! You did magick!"

The child pressed his left hand up to his abashed grinning face, forcing himself to stay in contact with those glittering purple eyes and that bright smile. "No, _we_ did it."

Madame Rose had been busying herself with adding details to the portrait but those words arose her attention. "A unicorn is a rare and powerful thing. Not everyone can see them."

"I can't!" Announced Mr. Wonka as if he were proud that his heir could do something that he could not. Then he gave the boy a more lustful look and a once-over his body. In a quieter, more masculine voice he added, "Bet you'd like tah see it _again_ too."

That forced Charlie to flush and look away. He was really trying not to blush around Mr. Wonka so much, but it wasn't easy! Knowing full well what the man meant, he still managed to mutter, "Y-yes sir."

The hands resting on the boy's shoulders shook a little at that. Charlie wasn't the only one in the room desperately resisting the urge to 'touch things'.

Madame Rose thought she was going to have to throw ice on the both of them in a minute. She'd have to settle for words that would hopefully give the same effect. With a scornful face she proclaimed, "Unicorns represent _purity_ and _innocence_ – they only appear to people with the same sort of nature."

Mr. Wonka got the hint, cleared his throat, and stood up. He tugged at his flared multi-colored paisley sleeves attempting to re-establish his authority. "Go put on yer shoes little boy. We should finish the portrait today."

Charlie nodded and dashed off toward the bed to reassemble his outfit: shoes, one glove, and the small navy top hat with peacock-like feathers. Before he pulled on his brightly colored right glove, he noticed a slight bruise where his mentor had struck him with the cane. That was going to be tricky to explain. The child decided to worry about it later and hurriedly walked back over to the chair where Mr. Wonka was seated again. Gently, he replaced himself onto the man's lap with an affectionate look.

Willy stayed stoic – he would force himself into control this time. After all, he'd had his 'taste' today, no need to be a glutton. Even so, his hands lingered around the slim waist before restoring them to their original pose. He wondered if he had finally found something even more tempting than sweets.

"You must have a lot of other things to do today besides this, right?" The child said modestly, facing forward.

"Not really. I already told ya that I had so little to do and so much time to do it in. I cleared my schedule for this. Sometimes, doing i very little /i takes a i great deal /i of time." Leaning closer toward his heir Mr. Wonka's eyelids lowered slightly. He could smell himself on the child. A smirk pulled at his lips for a second and he stroked the top of the child's bare hand. Wouldn't i that /i upset Mr. Bucket?

Madame Rose pulled out a bit of pink from her shoebox sized paint kit; there was a new glow to both of them that she wished to capture…

To be continued...

**Author's Notes: All comments inspire, even small ones. Thank you to those who took the time and perhaps courage (I know it isn't always easy) to leave one. It took TREMENDOUS courage for me to write this.**

**A mention about Dorian Grey's portrait inspired a sort of homage to that famous short story. I added Man of La Mancha (my favorite play) and the song "Windmills Of Your Mind" by Dusty Springfield to the mix. I've always liked that song and it suits the hell out of old Mr. Wonka! I'd love to list a link where you could listen to the song for free, but Fan Fiction Net doesn't let me post hyperlinks. And it even limits the symbols that I can use so forget it. But I'd love you to here it, so lets try it this way: www (dot) ladyjayes(dot) com (backslash) windmills (dot) h t m l - put the SYMBOLS where I wrote parathesis and the hyperlink initials together.**

**The art described hanging inside Wonka's extravagent bed, on his headboard, is heavily based on an amazing bit of art by AndreAla – Rae at Deviant Art. Please check out ALL her Wonka fan art and tell her I sent you! Lets try our trick again to help you out: www (dot) deviantart (dot) com (backslash) view (backslash) 20752051 (one last backslash). Geez, I feel weird doing that. **

**Though Mr. Wonka's DRAWING style would also be influenced by Quentin Black; the original illustrator of the novels. God Bless you sir, memories of your work are burned into my and countless other children's brains. Somehow I can see him drawing like this: h t t p : (double back slash) imageseu (dot) amazon (dot) com (backslash) images (backslash) P (backslash) 0141311304.02.LZZZZZZZ (dot) jpg **

**Another thanks to fellow Live Journal and Deviant Artist looneylucifer who saw fit to create an illustration based on the tale (alright I got TWO now!). You MUST check out their full work at: www (dot) freewebs (dot) com (backslash) wonkagoessplat (backslash) and say "Hi" for me too!**

**A special shout-out to all the pagan readers out there! "Blessed Be". You guys have me the most nervous and research bound, so I appreciated those comments as well. **

**Wonka really has a Tantrum Room and a Brussel Sprout Ice Cream Room. "Switch that and reverse it." and "So little to do and so much time to do it in." is a tip of the hat to old Gene Wilder, who will always be a part of Willy Wonka too. I just like playing with all the elements. (grins!)**


	9. Volume 9

**Title:** Is It Scary, volume IX (It's Showdown Time!)

**By:** IDOL HANDS

**Rating:** Mature Demented Audiences (**NC-17****ish**)

**Warnings:** for dramatic and adult themes, alternate Paganism, religion, under-aged/adult slash (Shota/Chan), naughty thoughts, ossification, and autoeroticism.

**Disclaimer:** The characters portrayed are not my property but that of the estate of R. Dahl, Tim Burton, Freddie Highmore and Johnny Depp.

**Summary:** Mr. Bucket comes home to many "sur-prizes". There is a lot to discuss at the Bucket household tonight. Things are shifting in new directions, old memories and ideals are being revealed, and there is still Grandpa George to consider! How will Wonka handle him? Bet you'll never guess. Last, but not least what effects might these recent effects have on dear Charlie?

**Twinkle, twinkle, little bat! How I wonder what you're at!**

Mr. Bucket entered the house later that night, "Evening Buckets! Dad won't be joining us tonight; he has some…overtime that he needs to do. Yeah, that's it." The head of the household had had a very long day. He was tired, stressed out, and his nerves were frayed and the worst wasn't over yet. There was the matter of talking to his son.

Charlie was happily sitting at the kitchen table practicing his penmanship; Wonka's note and a new one with the entire alphabet were right next to the paper he was working on. His cursive was improving a great deal, but it was like everywhere Mr. Bucket looked there his new 'boss' was. He couldn't get away from the guy! Much to his relief, his son had changed back into his usual worn clothes. He frowned a little noticing that Charlie was still wearing his new shoes as well as a pair of brightly colored gloves.

"Hi, Dad." He said very shyly. Charlie was anxious about talking to his father. Anxious because he had things that he very much wanted to discuss and things that he very much did not.

"I thought Grandpa George was going to talk with Mr. Wonka tonight?" The child's bluish eyes looked up innocently at Mr. Bucket.

"Ah...well, yes, that's…what I meant. It's sort of like overtime." So, Mr. Wonka knew AND told the boy about it. Hm. It was tricky to predict the candyman.

The boy gave his father a curious look. Mr. Wonka and him had a few more little conversations in his bedroom. One was about the fact that family didn't always tell the truth either, even his. His own father had fibbed just then. That was evidence that he shouldn't feel too guilty about withholding information himself. He couldn't get his mentor to tell him exactly what secrets he knew about the Buckets. His plaintive begging and pouting didn't pry it out of him this time. It only made the man twist up the corners of his mouth in a 'cat who swallowed the canary' kind of a way.

"How did things go today?" The slender Englishman sat down next to his young son and ruffled his unruly, soft brown hair. The gesture felt less natural than usual. He noticed that the child's hair was a trifle damp, as if he had taken a bath before dinner. Quickly he scanned their house to ensure that the metal tub looked used. Ensuring where the bathing took place. Thank goodness there were towels draped over its side and fresh suds on the bar of soap.

"…Wonderful." Was the word Charlie managed to choose after a second. He added with more enthusiasm. "They're always wonderful! Even when it gets..er, heywire. Um, we went to see Mum today!"

"Really?" That was very unusual: Mr. Wonka actually including the family in Charlie's routine before dinner.

When it came to meals, at first Mr. Bucket had thought it flattering that the famous man ate with them. Recently he figured that it was only so that Willy could spend a little more time with their son. The man's eyes hardly ever left the child. Sometimes it seemed like the two were sharing secret telepathic communication; he saw those subtle faces that they would make at each other. In his mind, it went from cute to creepy very quickly.

Mrs. Bucket took her husband's pondering silence as a chance to speak up from her cooking activities, "It was a really pleasant surprise! He gave Charlie that tiny candy out of his cane to feed the Oompa-Loompa children! Then he blessed the babies and showed us a statue that's being built in the courtyard. Our little boy has his very own statue!"

Candy from his cane? Blessing babies? A statue? It was a baffling amount of new information to absorb. Did his wife really say blessing? Did their child need 'his very own statue'? The sweet sound of the new statue owner's voice distracted his thoughts.

"Show Dad wot he gave you!" Charlie beamed to his mother.

His mother and him had already had a discussion when he first came home. They had decided on a kind of script and order for explaining everything since they boy told her about her husband and Wonka having a fight of some sort.

Mr. Bucket was surprised to see a slight grimace on Grandma Josephine's face. She was sitting in the bed near the fireplace and reading her Bible. She was quieter than usual. Grandpa Joe was shelling sugar peas, while Grandma Georgina was seated by the fireplace humming peacefully to herself; lost in her own thoughts. The father's glance went back over to his wife with a bit of apprehension.

Mrs. Bucket came over to the table and parted open the collar of her old printed cotton dress to expose the stylized golden pendant. "He said that it used to belong to his mother and that he wanted me to have it for taking such good care of the Oompa-Loompas."

"And for giving me life!" Charlie added hopefully with a wide, nervous grin.

A type of grimace was on the pale engineer's face. The Bucket man wasn't sure what to make of all of this. It was a dramatic gesture for someone who didn't seem to give a wit about family and was possibly misconstruing his relationship with their son. Of course he remembered when the subject of Wonka's mother came up. He had thought the chocolatier would never snap out of the coma he went into. It took Charlie to finally bring him around. Bringing up Dr. Wonka had similarly awkward reactions. Screwed up old bugger. His dark eyes lowered for a second thinking about that, then realized that everyone was expecting him to say something. Oops, seemed he had a little 'flashback' there himself. He struggled to say, "Uh…Tha-that was nice of him."

It came out as more of a question as he squinted to examine the necklace. He hadn't given his wife a piece of jewelry since their wedding day and even that had been a very modest item before being traded many times after. The current one was a cheap piece of metal that mimicked the first more valuable one. Both of them had finally been forced to pawn their real ones and had not been able to get them back. What was left was merely symbolic. There was no real value to them.

Charlie had taken off his left glove while his father was in deep thought. Preparing to tell of the other gift that had been given.

A small, concentrated breath brought Mr. Bucket's gaze back toward his child seated next to him. The glitter on his son's hand caught his attention, "Wot's that?"

"Mr. Wonka gave that to Charlie. Isn't it sweet?" Responded his wife.

Mr. Bucket was too stunned to talk for a second. Then commanded in a loud voice, "Take that off right now!"

"What? Why?" Charlie grabbed at his own hand, hiding it. His father's tone was scaring him.

"Because no son of mine is wearing a golden band given to him by an eccentric, old, unmarried man! That's why!" This new development was coming at a really bad moment or he wouldn't have made such a blatant statement. Mr. Bucket attempted to grab the boy's hand while speaking to no avail. Charlie was resisting and making small determined grunting sounds as he did so. It was most unusual for him to disobey his parents like this.

"Sweetheart!" Exclaimed his wife with a chuckle. "Relax, it's harmless, it's just a friendship ring."

Grandpa Joe had stood up and started to cautiously head over to the irate father. His wife had put down her religious text to watch with concern.

"Give it to me, Charlie!" Shouted Mr. Bucket, unswayed by her words. He had finally gotten the child's hand and was attempting to pull the delicate band off. Charlie squeezed up his eyes, shoulder blades squashed together, and a deep frown wrinkled up the bottom of his face. He was going to cry in a moment.

To the father's complete amazement…the delicate ring simply wouldn't budge. He pulled with all his strength, but it was as if it were glued in place; the boy's skin didn't even move! Shocked, he released his son's hand with a startled look on his face.

Once freed, Charlie got up, tears in his eyes, and ran as fast as he could outside.

"Son, that's a very special thing that Mr. Wonka gave to Charlie." Grandpa Joe started gingerly.

"It's a very inappropriate thing! Where does he get off doing this stuff without checking first! That's MY son and that's MY wife!" He persisted.

"He likes surprises. That's all." Grandpa Joe defended calmly. Sounds of Charlie weeping outside caught his ears.

"I'm going to check on the lad outside. He sounds very upset." He made a nod to his mother, who nodded back and sat next to her husband. Grandpa Joe stepped outside.

Grandma Georgina seemed startled by all the events, but had stayed silent, only observing everything with glossy eyes and a small elfish smile. She gave a giggle toward Grandma Josephine, who couldn't imagine what was funny about any of this. The sweet, apple-faced woman would have to forgive her old sister-in-law though. She knew Georgina's mind still wasn't what it used to be. Even in her glory days she had been a simple woman. Still, Willy loved the way she thought and entrusted her with inspiring him every day. In a special room, her every word and antic was recorded for his amusement.

Charlie was leaned against the flaking wall of the house, under the window; knees up to his chin, wiping away tears with a balled fist. One Oompa-Loompa was by his side; they still roamed around at night, only in far fewer numbers. The small man looked at Grandpa Joe with concern. Charlie looked at his Grandfather and wailed, "Why does he hate him!"

His parents muffled conversation couldn't be made out from outside.

The rail thin figure of Grandpa Joe did his best to crouch down to Charlie's level. He spoke slowly and gently, "Charlie, no one hates anyone. Don't talk like that. Your father simply doesn't understand his 'old ways', that's all. My wife doesn't care for it either. I'm in a lot of hot water too you know."

He gave a bit of a laugh and a broad reassuring smile. Charlie always felt that was his favorite feature about his old grandfather. His smile. It was why he didn't really mind Wonka's large, ever-changing one. The reliable elder suggested, "We'll explain it all together, OK?"

He patted the boy's tense back. Charlie had stopped crying but he was still heaving out moans. The boy looked back at his beloved Grandpa Joe and managed a weak smile. At least he wasn't the only Bucket defying a loved one for Mr. Wonka. He said hesitantly, "OK."

"Thank you." Said Grandpa Joe slowly to the lone Oompa-Loompa. Charlie signed the gratitude; similar to 'please', one placed the hands on the middle of the rib cage, made a prayer-like motion, but allowed a gap in-between. This was supposed to symbolize a cocoa bean, the ultimate in gratitude.

Then he told his grandfather, "This one is called Alec".

Grandpa Joe was still amazed at how Charlie was beginning to tell them apart! How spectacular it must be to see things the way Willy Wonka does, to do more than only be able to appreciate it. He spent many an hour near the man in order to get better as his Public Relations person. It was a big step up from the occasional minutes he was lucky to get in that first candy shop. Many years had past since he had last seen him, but he found Mr. Wonka as impressive and magical as ever; especially after the conversation they had when his grandson came home today. Just like Charlie, he felt there was something remarkable and hypnotizing about the chocolatier. He didn't blame the boy a bit for his infatuation. Not one bit at all…

The Oompa-Loompa signed 'Don't cry, we all want Charlie happy'. Charlie smiled a bit more at that. The sign for his name was a flat palm pushed downward indicating "small" followed by the tipping of a hat to imply 'Wonka' (minus the grin) with the heart gesture to the chest. There was also the sound of a bugle announcing something. His name translated to something like "Little Wonka" and "Wonka's heart" combined, with the added implication of a 'welcoming' noise.

These were actually nicknames that the native people used for them. He had seen them use a more complicated gesture for what they called Mr. Wonka between each other. Now he knew what that word was. He wondered what the true symbol for himself looked like. Should he tell his father about that? Wouldn't it only upset him more? Oh, he had learned so many amazing things today! And now his father was being a complete soggy biscuit about everything.

The boy proceeded to take his hunched-over Grandfather's large, skinny hand and head back inside.

Mr. Bucket immediately got down and hugged his son upon entering. Charlie was a tad surprised at the sudden change. "I didn't mean to yell at you. It's not you I'm mad at."

Charlie couldn't talk and didn't quite return the gesture. There was too much emotion inside him and a lump had formed in his throat. I know, it's Mr. Wonka you're mad at, thought the boy. Watery eyes looked up at his sympathetic mother's face: her large, dark ones reassuring him.

The father let out a sigh and pulled back to look his son in the face, "So, your mum tells me that the ring was a part of his own mother's. That's…pretty special I guess."

"Yeah." Said Charlie through a broken voice. He clutched his hand again and withdrew completely from his father's now loose embrace. Through rough breaths he managed to form his heartfelt thoughts into words. "H-he did it because…we're not related. He wanted to…give me something…to make us feel…more connected."

"See." His wife said in a flat, but still mild tone. She had seen her husband lose his temper, but that was a long time ago and she had never seen him behave that way towards their child.

"I can't believe you thought he wanted to marry Charlie!" Cackled Grandma Georgina. "Everybody knows that the poor man has an awful crush on me. It's a wonder how he manages to contain himself."

That lightened the mood in the room considerably. A few tiny grins were exchanged and they decided to try and proceed with dinner as normal. Mr. Bucket discovered that he preferred his ketchup red, after squirting a good blob of what he thought was mustard onto his turkey. However, everyone else thanked Charlie for bringing home some of Mr. Wonka's clever invention.

Charlie was only occasionally glancing nervously at his father throughout dinner. He didn't talk much or about his day. His mother and Grandpa Joe held up most of the conversation. Grandma Josephine made an unusual speech about the teachings of Jesus. No one disagreed with her, but Charlie wondered what it had to do with anything. He noticed that his mother seemed somewhat fidgety. Still, the evening was going well considering the previous disagreement. Mr. Bucket wasn't going to disrupt the evening further. He could wait until later to address other issues with his son. As they were nearing toward dessert, Mrs. Bucket stated, "Where have your father and Mr. Wonka gotten to?"

Mr. Bucket got nervous. It was true, they had been gone a while, missing dinner all together; not that he missed seeing, or worse hearing, Willy. He recalled how threatening the chocolatier had seemed when last he saw him. Oh God, he had sent his own father to accuse the man of the exact same thing that he had tried to accuse Wonka of earlier. The Bucket father got a bit worried, but remembered how secure his Grandfather had been that he could 'handle him'. Besides, Mr. Wonka would just explain to him what Charlie just did, right? No, that thought didn't calm his nerves. Especially since he wasn't really all right with all of this – he simply wasn't sure how to react yet. He glanced at his wife's neck. Was that glued to her as well? What the hell was that about anyhow? He gave an angry look at Charlie's ring. His son's hand curled away. Then he noticed that the right one was wearing a plaster across the top. He looked at his son, who immediately averted his gaze and tucked the other hand under the table as well. What was the explanation for that surprise going to be?

Mrs. Bucket came to the table with two pints of ice cream. One was pale green and the other one a swirl of rainbow colors. "Charlie wanted us to try some new flavors that Mr. Wonka has been working on. The green one is actually Brussel sprout ice cream. Not very good, but he's hoping we can fix it." She wrinkled her nose at the thought of its flavor.

"Oh my, we used to have 'cabbage candy' as children. I bet it's a similar idea. Remember that dear?" Stated Grandma Josephine to her husband.

"I certainly do. Pass it over here. I bet we can fix it up!" Grandpa Joe was eager to do Mr. Wonka a favor. A chance to impress such a clever man was rare!

"I hear singing!" Announced Grandma Georgina. Everyone thought she was contributing her usual random comments until they heard it for themselves. A raucous singing could be heard in the distance:

"**Chewing, chewing, chewing, chewing, chewing, chewing all day long,"**

"**Chewing, chewing all day long!"**

Followed by malicious laughter in two tones; one deep, one high.

"**For years and years she chews away, her jaws get stronger every day. **

**And with one great tremendous chew…they bite the poor girl's tongue in two!"**

"Too bad she didn't! Bossy little thing!" Came the billowing sound of Grandpa George's voice. And again there was an echoing of wicked laughter. The sound of it sent shivers down the spines of the women in the Bucket household.

Before any one could utter a word, the two of them booted open the door and burst into the house, still cackling like demons. They also each had an arm draped over the other one's shoulders. So much for Mr. Bucket's accusation about Wonka only touching Charlie.

"What in Heaven's name!" Exclaimed Grandma Josephine.

Both Grandpa George and Willy Wonka looked less than themselves. Actually, if the family didn't know better….

"I LOVE this crazy, old bastard!" Announced Grandpa George loudly and with a heavy slur.

"Pop! Not in front of the boy!" Exclaimed the perplexed and now standing Mr. Bucket.

Wonka had pressed a hand to his vest, laughing with his eyes squinted shut. Charlie also laughed out loud, quickly clasping both hands to his mouth in order to silence himself.

"You're completely sauced!" Exclaimed an amused Grandma Georgina.

"Are you both drunk? Asked Grandma Josephine, scarcely believing the words that came out of her mouth.

"Quite." Assured Mr. Wonka, his face looking very dreamy. He tipped his hat at Mr. Bucket, fixating his eyes on him though not exactly glaring, then gave a wink to Charlie.

The boy smiled shyly in return, lowering his eyelashes. His father watching with one long eyebrow keenly raised.

"Our sincerest –hic- apologies!" Broadcast the chocolatier. He appeared far more relaxed than usual.

"Well, sit down before you fall over." Mrs. Bucket stated, getting up and pushing a chair over to them. At least one of them probably needed to sit down. Grandpa George took her up on the offer, placing his bottom a tad too firmly into the creaky chair. With equal speed and lack of grace he raised one arm from under the table creating a loud:

**CLUNK!**

The tipsy old man had slammed down a large, cut-crystal decanter filled with a golden fluid onto the cloth tabletop. "Butter Scotch, literally!"

He proudly announced, like it was a major discovery. Quickly he reached for an empty glass.

That sound was promptly followed by a second one:

**Thud!**

"Butter Rum, figuratively!" Added Wonka with a wide, toothy grin. He loved semantics! He had placed down (with slightly less enthusiasm than Grandpa George) a long and elegantly corked bottle with pale orange fluid inside.

Everyone else was still in astonishment of the whole situation. Charlie was intently studying his mentor in this current state. It was pretty amusing. He noticed that Mr. Wonka's five o' clock shadow was visible. Childlike as he could be, it appeared that the chocolatier could grow a beard as heavy as his own father!

"It seems –hic- some explanation is in order, George." Commented Willy while clasping at his bobbing Adam's apple.

"What's to explain? We had a boy's night out! Maybe next time Joe here can come along." He looked over at the frail man in the thick glasses while pouring a bit more of the Butter Scotch to offer up.

"Ooh, no. I'm not much for drinking. Maybe Charlie's father could go though." Stated Grandpa Joe humbly.

"Not until he apologizes to Mr. Wonka for threatening him." He said pointedly, then took a guzzle out of the glass.

Mr. Wonka immediately began waving a purple gloved hand, pursing his lips and face in protest to the statement. "Pfft! Please, not necessary."

"He threatened you." Insisted Grandpa George with a frown.

"B-but I..!" Mr. Bucket started. He had been completely caught off guard! Everyone was more shocked by that statement than by both men (especially Willy Wonka) being drunk. Charlie had a look on his face like part of his world had been shattered.

"Listen, -hic- isss all forgiven. In the past!" His voice went up at the end and each word came out sluggishly. "I mean if you don't like my taste in fashion that's –hic- perfectly fine. I don't really like yours either!"

He giggled.

Mr. Bucket senior added in a gruff tone, "And Charlie learning to cook is good for candy making. Doesn't make him a sissy."

The boy focused a really frustrated look at his father.

Wonka grinned a drunken, satisfied smile. He thought…Mess with the master, will ya? "Well, I musst be gooing, uh going. Releasing a new line of -hic- perfumes tomorrow. Maybe one of 'em will make the Salts ssshtink less. Who knew all that garbage would –hic- never wash off? I got big hopes for Scrumpfudge, wait, Fudgemallow, no, uh…oh, you know."

"Whipplescrumptous Fudgemallow Delight perfume?" Charlie said perfectly.

"Thas' the one! Boy, thassa doooozie of a mouthful, huh? What wuz I thinkin'?" His exaggerated expressions weren't quite keeping up with his words tonight.

-Hic!-

He put one hand up to his face. "Sorry. That's why I don't usually drink. I won't bother you folks another minute." He giggled, and then furrowed his brow. "Now, where did I put my cane?"

Charlie stopped examining his father like the rest of his family was now currently doing. He politely stated, "It's in your hand, Mr. Wonka."

"So it is!" Wonka said, amused at the discovery, and lifting it up for everyone to see. He tottered some while he doing so, but successfully recovered his balance.

"Um, Charlie darling, why don't you accompany Mr. Wonka back to his vehicle." Said his mother. Her motives were concern and a moment or two of privacy with her husband.

Mr. Wonka bent out his free arm and Charlie was happy to oblige with a 'so there' look at his father. Arm in arm, Mr. Wonka tipped his hat again, and wished them a, "–hic- Good Night."

The quarreling of the family drifted away as the duo headed to the river where the boat awaited them; its pink color barely visible in the false blue moon. Willy didn't understand why 'blue moons' only had to come once in a great while. He wanted one every night and so he made sure that he got one!

"Boy, I ssseemed to have caused quit, ah, quite the ruckus." Said the chocolatier looking down at the boy, waving slightly as he stood before the vessel. He was trying very hard to remain composed and failing riotously.

"No. It wasn't your fault." Charlie said glumly. Funny as he found Mr. Wonka's current condition, he was far more worried about everything that was going on with him and his family.

"Hephalumps and Woozles, Charlie, don't look –hic- so sad. It'll all work out. One way or… another." The pause in his speech was not due to his inebriation, but rather a brief thought. However, the young Bucket boy had no way of knowing that.

Stepping into the boat, he surveyed the chocolate room one last time. A heavy sloshing noise nearly drowned out the sound of the family in the background. Mr. Wonka gazed affectionately at his creation and danced his fingers about as he said, "It's sssucha luverly night. Lookit how the moonlight reflects off the chocolate river. Sssimply ssscruptious!"

Charlie said. "Mr. Wonka, I want to give you something before you go."

"Hm? What is it?" He leaned over the bow only to be met with Charlie's lips in a full kiss. They were warm and a bit wet like he had licked them first. Wonka was pleasently, but completely startled – he didn't even have a chance to close his eyes.

"I love you." Was the next thing he heard whispered into his ear. It sounded especially charming in the child's English voice. The boy quickly pulled away from the forward gesture. Then he ran off like a shot back into his house. It was due to his timidity, but it was probably a good thing since Willy wasn't sure he wouldn't have pulled him into the ship and whisked him back to his room again if the boy had lingered one second longer. The man stayed frozen like a statue, slowly raising one hand to his mouth and closing his eyes. The oarsmen stood by equally motionless awaiting his command.

The moment of deep meaning was suddenly disturbed by a rather vocal:

-Hic!-

"Damn hiccups!" Wonka cursed. It seemed Grandpa George had an effect on him as well.

Both physical reactions caused a unison of giggles from the Oompa-Loompas. Their employer turned and looked at them all. "Ooh, just sstart rowin'." He said in a grumpy tone, followed by a more polite, "…please. I need tah get home and get the sssmell of cigars offa me and get these clothes sssterilized. Ugh! Honestly, the thingss I've done fer that boy!"

The Oompa-Loompas all laughed again and began to row. The Bucket child watched his mentor sail off, waving at him as he groggily waved back. He would probably be asleep before too long.

The child steeled himself before entered his own house. Then turned the old brass nob and entered. Everyone grew completely silent the moment he stepped in, various expressions meeting his own.

"Please," Charlie began, "don't spoil everything. Mr. Wonka is a fantastic man. He's my friend and..."

He fought back tears again before finishing with, "I love him."

Again there was silence and various expressions. Mr. Bucket felt like he had been hit in the head with a hammer. Grandma Georgina was still smiling, though Grandma Josephine looked more concerned. Mrs. Bucket kneeled down to hug Charlie and give him a kiss on his head.

"Maybe we should skip dessert tonight. We've had our fair share as of late and an early bedtime will give us all time to sleep on this." Offered Grandpa Joe.

"That sounds like a grand idea." Announced Grandpa George with a large yawn.

"Yes, perhaps we've all had a bit too much…excitement today." Stated Mrs. Bucket while toying with the pendant around her neck. She gave a concerned look toward her husband who was biting his lip and avoiding his son's gaze.

The child lay in bed a great while listening to the family quietly attempt to settle down without much talking; Grandpa George snoring the whole time. His family had never been this out of joint before. The boy wanted Mr. Wonka to like him and he really, really liked everything about the man, but he liked his family too. How was everything going to fit together? The child let out a dissatisfied, muffled noise. It made his head hurt thinking about it all sometimes.

It was deep into the night now and he decided to let his thoughts drift to something more pleasant: something more soothing. He started to think about all the ways Mr. Wonka felt. The warm velvet of the coat, the rough tickle of the stubble against his face, the slight sharpness of his teeth at the nape of his neck, the sting of the slaps and cane, then about the contrast of the smoothness of the skin on his hand skin, that same cool hand on his thigh and the feel of the latex glove on his…

An emotion was welling up in him. He held his breath to make sure he could hear the noise of everyone asleep below him before engaging in a private little fantasy. The boy wondered if he could mimic those sensations from earlier today. Reaching down, he tried to duplicate the position of his fingers. It didn't feel exactly like Mr. Wonka, but it would do.

"Mmmn…" He let out his pleasant little groan. Suddenly he paused again, panicked, making sure no one heard him. There wasn't a rustle. He continued to gently mimic the stroking motions, he allowed his mind to think thoughts of things that didn't occur, but maybe he wanted to happen. Mostly, he wanted to get closer and try more magic. He leaned deeper into his pillow and pretended it was the chocolatier. Too bad he had wash the smell off of his skin earlier.

His mother had only stated, "Oh Charlie, you smell like chocolate from head to foot!" Sniffing him closer, she added in a puzzled voice, "And something else…" That did it.

Maybe he could get some of that chocolate perfume later to spray his sheets with. Mr. Wonka did smell so enticing and he tasted like the sweetest, most exotic fruit. He parted his mouth in the memory and desire to experience it all again.

Getting more aroused, the child thought of more outrageous fantasies; about that chained cuff and their chests pressed together in that enormous, cozy bed. His slim hips began to rock faster. His heart raced pleasently recalling how afraid he had been at the time. He wondered what else had been on Mr. Wonka's mind when he was looking at him, how easy it would have been for his mentor to do anything to him in that moment. His mind raced with various ideas of being helpless in his embrace. He used the visual of his mentor standing, before he covered himself up with the coat, as further reference.

The tingling sensation was rising inside of him, building up before a dizzying shudder ran through him again. He bit the top of his left hand to keep from shouting. His body was pulsing with a rhythm of his own in the self-induced afterglow. It reminded him of the secret beat of life that his mentor kept mentioning.

Raising his right hand up, breathing heavy, he looked at the clear fluid and took a little lick. It wasn't disgusting. It barely had any flavor at all; only bit of salt. Not entirely unlike Mum's old soup actually. He resisted the urge to laugh at the thought. Since he couldn't decide what to do with the rest of the bit of evidence from his 'indulgence', mimicking Mr. Wonka seemed like the best solution. While he did so, he couldn't help wonder…what would his taste like? Shortly after that, he fell into a deep, peaceful sleep. A small smile graced his angelic features.

A little while later Mr. Bucket felt an insistent tapping on his shoulder. Opening his eyes, he saw the familiar round face and knit-cap of his mother-in-law. Clutching her shawl in one hand, she motioned for him to get up with the other. Carefully, he did so, looking back to make sure that he had not disturbed his wife. He followed her to the outside of the house. There wasn't an Oompa-Loompa in sight in the dark Chocolate Room.

The blue moon caused deep shadows on both of their distinctive features. Their darkly colored, mismatched patchwork clothes made the pair look completely out of place among the brightly colored, fantasy landscape of the engulfing edible forest.

"You're worried about Willy's influence on Charlie, right?" Whispered the old English woman.

"Yes." He replied anxiously, squinting through blood-shot eyes.

"So am I. I'm worried about my daughter too. Now, I know we've been thinking of the candymaker as 'eccentric' or 'old-fashioned', but I never heard of half the gibberish that Charlie came home talking about." She tucked back up one of the silver curls that had freed itself from her hat while she had been lying in bed tossing and turning.

She stared into Mr. Bucket's eyes, fear in her own light colored ones. The expression was more obvious against a face whose pale eyebrows blended into the skin. "The man sees visions in a giant, black mirror. Their portrait was painted by a blind, old OL who can SEE when she looks into it. It sent shivers up my spine to hear the boy say it."

Mr. Bucket's face was shock mixed with disbelief. He wasn't sure what Grandma Josephine was going to say, but he certainly hadn't something as peculiar as that!

"That's NOT normal. I mean nothing in his factory is normal, but…I can barely say it…" Her voice went down to the quietest of a whisper, "it sounds like the work of something other than God."

Mr. Bucket's eyes were now completely open. He ignored how cold he was and stood with his arms wrapped around him. It was more than the chill that was affecting his posture.

"The child has been going on and on about Paganism. I think Mr. Wonka wants to convert Charlie to his weird, old religion. Tolerance is one thing, but this is going too far. And mind you, I don't like that piece of jewelry the man gave to my daughter either. He called her a goddess, you know! My daughter is not a goddess. She should be wearing a cross if anything!" Clearly the old woman was feeling as frustrated as Charlie's father, only on a slightly different topic.

Furrowing his brows, Mr. Bucket had never considered the man being inappropriate toward his wife before. Yes, he had to admit that he had taken him for a homosexual of some kind. Grandpa Joe never mentioned how…well 'faniciful' and, for lack of a better term, 'pretty' his former boss had been. When the father nervously brought it up, the old man stated a tad fondly that Willy Wonka was as "beautiful as a woman in his youth; androgynous like an innocent child". He certainly didn't seem innocent anymore! He and Grandpa George once worried that the old man might flirt with them! Now, the chocolatier's actions were confusing him further still. His son's anger certainly wasn't helping to resolve anything. The boy had never been this upset with him and, what hurt more, was that Charlie had never been this upset with anyone.

'I love him' haunted his ears. He worried about Charlie being hurt or victimized. Those words were painful and confusing in the light of such concerns. Should he be more worried at this point or less?

"You think he's a…witch or something?" He inquired of his mother-in-law, brows still in deep concern over this new subject.

They were standing face to face when Grandma Josephine pointedly aksed, "How does anyone make plants grow without sunshine or insects? Where is this Loompaland? Have you ever heard of it? It's unnatural. Something is simply not right and Charlie is too trusting to realize it. He loves everybody. Joe is the same way; kind to a fault. There is more than one kind of magic in the world my dear…"

Her speech was cut off by the sight of Charlie leaving the house. The two Buckets thought the boy had been eavesdropping on them. They suddenly felt terribly guilty for their actions. However, the child never looked towards them, he simply kept slowly walking. Barefoot into the swudge, one arm outstretched, the blue light cutting through his white cotton robe revealing his willowy form underneath.

"Charlie?" Said Grandma Georgina to the wondering child.

The boy still didn't look their way and kept walking. Mr. Bucket suddenly became concerned that his son was going to find himself in the river before long and ran to catch up to him. He stood in front of him gripping the slim shoulders. The boy's eyes were open, but completely unfocused; his face was without any expression. "Charlie! Charlie, wake up!"

A few blinks and the eyes barely looked at his father's. "Daaad?" His voice was far away and distant. "Isn't it…simply lovely…?"

"Isn't what lovely, son?" The creases around his mouth emphasized his concern.

"The…unicorn. Can't you see it? It has lavender eyes, almost like Mr. Wonka's." A slow smile accompanied his daze.

Mr. Bucket's body got rigid again. He swallowed hard and managed to keep his voice gentle. "There isn't any unicorn Charlie. You're having a dream. Let's go back to bed now, alright?"

"M'kay…" The boy allowed his father to pick him up, leaning his head against his shoulder.

Grandma Georgina was behind the two of them. She reached up and stroked Charlie's straight edged bangs into place. "Oh, the poor thing, he was sleep-walking. It must be all the stress."

Mr. Bucket made the trek back into their house and precariously climbed up into the boy's makeshift bedroom while Grandma Josephine rejoined her three bedmates. He knew they would have to try to talk again soon.

The child could bounce up the back of the couch and leap up the skinny wooden ladder in two shakes of a rabbit's tale, but it was a different story for a full grown man carrying said child. Charlie was also getting big for such treatment. He knew it wouldn't be long until his son wasn't a little boy at all anymore. He sighed. If only he could freeze him at this age.

Carefully, he laid his son back into the bed and tucked him in. "Mmn", a soft contented noise was made as he was finishing. While pulling up the sheets, Mr. Bucket's foot hit something heavy and hard under the bowed twin mattress. Looking, it was the boy's old book bag. What was that doing there? It belonged hanging off the nail on the wall. Lifting it up, the sack was unnaturally heavy. What was inside? He opened the bag to see something wrapped up in an old dishtowel and a metal object of some sort. He pulled it out by its leather cord to reveal a black dagger in a small decorative sheath. Why did his son have a knife? He pulled out the book wrapped in cloth to reveal the weighty book on Greek and Roman history. At least that made more sense, probably part of his history learning for school. They had entrusted this man with educating their child after all. They had trusted him not long ago, most of the family still did. How were they going to work this out? He heard Charlie stir in his sleep.

"…promise…I promise…" the child muttered.

The boy's father carefully replaced the things into the bag. He'd try to talk to him again when it was truly morning. It would be awful if he did one more thing to upset his son right now. Mr. Bucket hung the bag onto its old, rusted nail and noticed the new, shiny hat rack in the corner that held the child's new outfits and top hat. Yet another piece of Wonka had entered his home without his knowledge.

Soundlessly, he made his way back to his own bed. For what it was worth, he attempted to get back to sleep. His wife's arm instinctually wrapped around him as she snuggled into his warmth. Reaching up, he placed his hand over hers, closed his tired eyes, and filtered out the familiar sound of his father snoring.

To be continued….

**Author's Notes: **

**Special thanks to "loimaga" for the 'Hephalumps' and 'Woozles' idea (creatures discussed in Winnie the Pooh). You can find her at Deviant Art: www (dot) loi-maga (dot) deviantart (dot) com (backslash)**

**Another thanks to "looneylucifer" who inspired me to use one of the greatest lines from the book, Charlie and the Great Glass Elevator. I hope it hits home a second time. Here's Lucifer's interpretation of art for the same quote:**

**www (dot) img (dot) photobucket (dot) com (backslash) albums (backslash) v717 (backslash) appleheadstudios (backslash) Wonka (backslash) WonkaxCharlie-hug (dot) jpg**

**A little shout-out to my new reader "kitsuneryu369" (who can also be found at Deviant Art: www (dot) kitsuneryu369 (dot) deviantart (dot) com (backslash). This person rightfully pointed out that I am using elements from an established form of Paganism (that is sometimes considered "dark" by white magic practitioners). You are the reason why I changed the wording from "warped" to "alternate". Furthermore, this reviewer pointed out that cabbage ice cream actually exists! I did a search for it and have indeed found the recipe, so that made it into the story as well. **

"**Butter Rum" and "Butter Gin" are mentioned in book, Charlie and the Chocolate Factory and I LOVE the idea of a drunken Wonka. Simply had to do it. But, I still can't believe what I did with his heir. He, he, he! **


	10. Volume 10

**Title:** Is It Scary, volume X (Hallelujah and Amen!)

**By:** Idol Hands

**Rating:** Mature Demented Audiences

**Warnings:** for dramatic and adult themes, alternate Paganism, religion, spooky scenes, and an under-aged/adult slash ("chan" or "shota") relationship.

**Disclaimer:** The characters portrayed are not my property but that of the estate of R. Dahl, Tim Burton, Freddie Highmore and Johnny Depp. The Brothers Grimm are also to blame.

**Summary:** Good Morning, Starshine! Mrs. Bucket has an odd experience early in the day. Will Grandma Josephine have a better chance at handling Wonka than her son-in-law did? The breakfast of champions is about to begin…

**"Why Grandma what big eyes you have and what big teeth you have."**

Mrs. Bucket had to move very slowly to manage getting out of the bed without waking her husband. She had awoken very early that morning hoping to beat her family's usual stirrings. Tip-toeing over to the sink and mirror, she started to do the barest minimum of cleaning. Quietly she brushed her teeth, washed her face, and started to comb through the brown curls her hair. Studying her features, it took her a moment to notice the figure of someone being reflected in the mirror. Her eyes focused and saw a heavily shadowed pale body - it's hand reaching out for her shoulder. She gasped and twisted around, dropping her comb to the floor. Clasping the sink from behind for balance, the woman was surprised to find no one at all behind her. Had she imagined it? She had thought it was Mr. Wonka for a second.

The woman's features appeared more angular than usual as she stared into the shadows of her home, searching for the missing presence. Everyone was still asleep and there wasn't a single sign of the chocolatier. Seemed she did imagine it. Must be left over tensions, she decided.

Still skulking around like a thief in the night, Mrs. Bucket climbed up the area to her son's wall-less bedroom. Normally, she would not do this since it was a precarious journey up to the nook; one best left to a more spry person.

Climbing into Charlie's little world was a nice break from her own. Affectionately she looked about. The candy bar wrappers from each year of his birthday were still on the wall, along with the first one that Willy ever gave to him when he entered the factory. She recalled how transfixed the chocolatier was to watch the boy enjoy the token gift – it was nearly eerie. On her son's shelf was a collection of clutter and junk that he had collected from old family toys or found lost and abandoned. There was one terribly old doll that his mother had tried to convince him to discard. The dolly was dirty, missing an arm, and the dress was torn. One of her blinking eyes remained forever closed, giving her the appearance of forever winking. Charlie had insisted that if he didn't keep the doll, who would? Her child had said, "It isn't the doll's fault that someone mistreated her so. She still deserves to be loved by someone."

Immediately she thought about Willy Wonka and almost wanted to cry. It was true, he was a really strange man, but a lot of _really strange_ things had happened to him.

The newest item on the boy's shelf was the "Incredible Gobstopper". It rested on an intricately decorated porcelain saucer. The matching cup was downstairs in the cupboard along with the rest of the tea set. This was the chocolatier's first gift to the family. It was a warm gesture. Somewhere in there was a kind, giving, good man. She believed that. Charlie couldn't say he loved a _bad_ person, could he?

She looked at her son's sleeping form; his body akimbo, sheets half kicked off, one leg hanging off the bed, mouth open, eyes closed. Her husband was misunderstanding their friendship. Their son would have told them if something was wrong. They were just like two kids in a candy shop. She dared say it was the awkward man who was benefiting more from the relationship than her son. Further, it had been Charlie who stood up to Wonka and refused his offer if his family couldn't be included as well. Fancy that. They had all been so proud of him even though they also felt badly. None of them could fathom why Mr. Wonka would have such an attitude in the first place.

"_Uh, lookit me, I never had any family and I'm a GIANT success."_ His words. How could anyone not have any family at all? Now they knew…

The boy's eyes opened suddenly and immediately focused on his mother's face.

Mrs. Bucket let out a startled gasp. She had been leaning over him, about to wake him up, but she hadn't laid a finger on him.

"Mum? What's going on? Why are you up here?" The boy looked around his room in a paranoid fashion. "Did you touch my book bag?"

Mrs. Bucket was startled by his reaction. "Shhh…" She said gently. "I don't want to wake everyone else up yet. I didn't touch anything. I only wanted to ask if you'd like to work on a little 'thank you' for Mr. Wonka."

"oh." The child said quietly sat up. He still wasn't smiling, though his next questions sounded somewhat less suspicious, "Why? What kind of surprise?"

"Tsk, for the _gifts_, monkey face." That was a knick-name he had from when he was a baby. His mother picked up the golden Earth Goddess pendant around her neck.

The woman meant it lovingly, but that was the first time that Charlie didn't appreciate that reference to his sticky out ears. Although it was also given to him for his own curiosity and in comparison to the book Curious George that he had liked to be read. Hmm, the boy reflected. 'The Man in the Big Yellow Hat' seemed a lot more familiar to him now.

"I thought we could bake him something. Remember I used to work for a bakery before you were born?" His mother's round eyes focused on her child futzing with his ears. Was he becoming insecure about his physical appearance all of a sudden? How funny! Perhaps he was growing up a little. That's why he was nervous about his room too. Normally, her Charlie didn't care who was up here - although no one usually was.

"OK, um, sure. But won't it…upset Dad?" The child had started to slide out of bed, careful to keep his nightshirt pulled down as he did so. His voice hesitated to mention his father.

"Oh, everyone likes pastry. We'll make some for the whole lot and you can take a basket of extras to Willy. Unless you think he'll stop by? I just figured he'd be, well, ah…" She touched a finger to her full mouth. Perhaps Charlie shouldn't know about hangovers yet.

Charlie looked up at her with no idea what the next word was going to be.

"Oh, um, nevermind. Let's get started!" Even in her excitement she spoke in a soft whisper.

Once downstairs the two got a kick out of working in complete silence on their secret project. Mrs. Bucket was glad to see the usual smile on her son's face while he watched her work butter, flour, and water into clay-like dough. After which she pulled out a large glass jar of sticky purple syrup. She had boiled it up a couple of days ago from some lollypops that grew on the lawn. They both took a taste before painting it on top of the flattened dough.

"Shall we make rolls out of it then?" His mother asked.

"Can we make horns instead? Like a unicorn's?" The boy asked gesturing toward his head with powdery white hands. A few flakes fell into his silky chestnut hair while he did so.

"That's the great thing about dough, Charlie. You can mold it into any shape you want." The woman began to cut the square into strips to be rolled.

Mr. Bucket, the last one to actually fall asleep last night, was consequently the last one to wake up that morning. He was surprised to awake to wondrous smells coming from his own kitchen. He groggily got out of bed: hair, face, and pajamas completely frumpled.

"Morning all." He said hesitantly to the room. They were in various states of getting ready except for Grandpa George who was lying in bed with a rubber ice pack on his head and groaning.

Everyone greeted him in a similar manner except Charlie who didn't even look up from his project at the kitchen table to acknowledge him. Grandma Josephine's round and softly wrinkled face pouted at the child's lack of reaction. The boy continued to intently roll pastry dough into 'W' shapes.

Mr. Bucket grumbled to himself. It used to be fun to continue to fuel his son's obsession with Willy Wonka when he worked at the old toothpaste factory. What _had_ he been thinking? Oh right, the cute look on his child's face at the barest gift he could offer him; a minute distraction from their poverty and starvation. Currently the boy seemed to be on a non-speaking basis with him. He gave a guilty sigh.

It was a rough blow, though he'd seen something like this happening. He had spent a _lot_ of time thinking last night. It was time to try a different approach to this whole situation. Slowly he shuffled toward Charlie, uncontrollably yawning.

"Bless you!" Said Grandma Georgina in a helpful voice.

There were a few smiles. At least a person was concerned for him, even if she didn't know the difference between a sneeze and a yawn at times. He said graciously, "Thank you."

The boy still wasn't looking at him. "Charlie, I know you're mad at me and I guess you deserve to be. I…I over-reacted yesterday and said a lot of things out of anger. I'm sorry."

The child glanced up at him, the serious look on his face only slightly relaxed before returning to mold his pastry dough.

"Look." He said with compassion, daring to get closer to his boy, sitting down.

"I want you to feel safe. You're my son…and you should feel like you can come to me and tell me anything. From now on I give you my word that I won't shout or get mad at you or…Mr. Wonka." The father held his hand over his heart at the end of the statement. It took every fiber of his being to state that with sincerity in his voice.

He watched as the blue eyes scrutinized his dark ones for honesty. The child said with great emphasis, "_Anything_?"

"Absolutely." Confirmed Mr. Bucket in a way that a person might brace for the sting of a needle. He couldn't be certain what he might be told after all.

"And you _swear_ you won't get mad at Mr. Wonka?" The young eyes squinted a bit at his father.

The man gave a small smile with a quick nod.

The boy paused in great thought, a perplexed frown still on his face, "Then why did you say all those _mean things_ to Mr. Wonka in the first place? Why did you say all those mean things about…_me_?"

Mr. Bucket flinched a bit at the cracking sound in his son's voice on the last sentence. He had to pause for a moment to find the right words. "Be-because I was confused. Because Mr. Wonka doesn't tell the rest of us anything before he does them. Charlie, I'm a simple man and I don't understand the way Mr. Wonka's mind works. None of us do. We need _your_ help to do that."

Everyone in the family looked toward them after that final statement. It was a very accurate one. They couldn't help expressing small amounts of agreement.

The Bucket child scanned the rest of his silent relatives. He squirmed in his chair. A pained squeak from the wood filled the room. An extremely pensive answer followed after that, "Alright…I'll try."

It worked! He couldn't help a broad smile spreading across his face and stated in an excited manner, "Let me make it up to you Charlie! Now, wot can _I_ do that would make _you_ happy?"

He barely hesitated with the answer and it was the happiest he had sounded all morning. "Make Mr. Wonka's new satellite work!"

Mr. Bucket flinched more visibly this time. That was NOT the answer he expected in more ways than one. "He told you about that?! It was supposed to be a secret! He made me swear not to tell anyone until everything was ready since he wasn't sure it was even going to work."

"I know. It's OK." Averting his eyes the boy added gently, "You _should_ keep secrets that Mr. Wonka tells you to keep."

The father paused at that. There was no chance that he was going to provoke another emotional earthquake so soon after getting his son to talk to him again. He'd simply have to file that particular comment away for the time being. Rather, he said something encouraging, "For you Charlie, I'll do my very best."

That put a big smile on his child's face as he happily stood up with the tray of rolled goodies. Some were only long, twisted rolls. Others were also twisted, but shaped into the letter "W". All of them had the dark purple syrup peeking out of the two wrapped layers of buttery dough.

His mother smiled at him. "Oh, they look perfect! Good Job, Charlie!"

"Don't suppose there are any tasty _B-shaped_ ones?" Asked the father in a semi-joking voice.

Charlie got a guilty look on his face. He said, "No, but…uh, how about I make a great BIG ONE right now?"

The child took his father's smile as a sign that he would appreciate it. His mother handed him a big piece of dough that the child took back to their table where flour, wax paper and a rolling pin were resting.

His wife had also given her husband a very proud look. She knew her words had something to do with the way he had acted toward Charlie right then. She also knew that those were not easy things for him to say.

"Wot are you all doing?" He said to her followed by another great yawn.

"Mum's teaching me how to bake! It's different than regular cooking!" Said Charlie with excitement.

"We're making morning pastries. Remember how I used to?" She put an extra wiggle in the motions of her dough rolling. The ruffles on the apron moved to and fro.

That seemed a very long time ago indeed, before Charlie, before four bedridden parents drove her from the bakery job and before the chocolate factory ever closed. His faced changed from annoyance, to contemplation, to brooding - the factory, Willy Wonka, and his family's fate revolving around it.

"How long've you been up, luv?" Mr. Bucket scratched at his lower back and headed over to examine some of the results near the warm oven.

"Oh, since about five-thirty. One has to get up plenty early to bake!" She sounded a bit younger than usual.

His wife was placing measured spoonfuls of dark purple syrup onto cheese Danish. Despite Mr. Bucket's disdain for the man at the moment, he had to admit that his spouse's concoction from The Chocolate Room looked very tantalizing. Now that he thought about it, so did she. Her lips had become plum-colored from tasting the substance. Would it be permanent like Willy's oddly cherry-colored ones? He quickly shook the thought of the man's lips from his mind. Why _did_ he have to have such a distracting mouth? Not just the lips, but the teeth too. Charlie's drawings of him often featured the perfectly square, brazenly white things. Who had given him those wind-up joke teeth? Were Dr. Wonka's horrendous braces been to blame? If so, he didn't want that dentist near his child!

All those thoughts aside, Mr. Bucket continued to walk over to her with a slim, playful grin on his face. She paused with her oven mitts on and looked at him confused.

"Wot are you playing at?" She held still with both padded gloves before herself.

"Give us a kiss. I want to see what those purple lips taste like." Last night made him realize that he had been neglectful not just toward his child, but toward the woman he loved as well. He was usually not this forward about his affection, but a certain gold necklace seemed to be mocking him at the moment.

She laughed like they were still dating. "Stop it, you haven't even brushed your teeth yet!"

However, she gave in and allowed him a nice smooch. It wouldn't be her first unshaven, unwashed kiss from him and he deserved something for the hard time he had been put through yesterday.

Normally, Charlie had found such interaction between his parents 'gross', 'icky' and as baffling as homework assignments during Christmas break. Today though, he was actually VERY interested and watched them through quick glances while continuing to roll the dough. How was a 'husband' and 'wife' supposed to act toward each other?

"You taste like sugar plums and lemon curd! Who needs Danish?!" Whatever the woman had done to those purple and yellow lollypops made them tantalizingly unique. The chocolatier would undoubtedly be impressed.

She playfully smacked at him and pulled away. "Go wash up before Willy Wonka gets here. He'll be all dressed up."

"Fine, I'll go get all tarted up for the tarts." Then his father did something that made his mother jump, laugh, and throw a towel at him as he headed towards the bathroom.

"Mom? What did Dad do just then?" Said their son in an innocent voice.

His mother just blushed.

"He pinched her bottom." Grandpa George's stern voice informed from under the ice pack.

"Father George!" She admonished, blushing harder.

The older man only chuckled, "That's my boy. Ooooh. My head. Are you sure the old man is going to come here? He must be worse off than me."

"The Oompa-loompas said he would." Answered Charlie in a cheery voice. The little people and the boy had a constant rapport going and one had discreetly signed this to him through a window.

The morning's antics continued as the family went through its usual routine of musical chairs for washing and dressing. Charlie looked across the table as he descended from his bedroom nook. He was glad that he had gotten up early at his mother's suggestion. This was sure to be as good as yesterday's pancakes!

Mr. Bucket couldn't help but notice the _skin-tight_ outfit that his son was wearing. It was black and went from his throat to his toes; boots were built in, it connected at his middle fingers on the arms and had a slimming green stripe down either side. "Charlie, er….don't take this wrong, but…what _are_ you wearing?"

"It's called a 'cat-suit'! Mr. Wonka told me to wear it for the _special activities_ that he has planned for today. It's made of a special fabric that makes it extra strong and flexible!" He tugged at it in two places to show how stretchy it was.

Good God. There was nothing polite to be said! The boy looked like a circus performer or something. He clenched his teeth and furrowed his brow at his family. Pushing the thought psychically if he could, don't any of you find this the teeniest, tiniest bit weird or suspicious?!

The boy simply kept beaming at his father.

His wife drew in her lips nervously before saying. "Um, Charlie dear, maybe you should put on your new jacket."

"His jacket is still rather _short_, sweetheart." Mr. Bucket said as nicely as possible in a strained way. He was feeling like Mr. Wonka during one of his awkward moments.

"He could wear this. I finished it yesterday." Offered Grandma Georgina in a crackling voice. She pulled a newly woven item out of her large knitting basket. The garment was a long poncho with a hood. It was a lovely shade of crimson with patterns toward the bottom edge and near the brim of the hood.

"It was for meself, but Charlie could borrow it for today." She had hobbled over and was placing it over the semi-reluctant boy's head. The hooded shawl fell to slightly below his hips.

"Oh, that's _much_ better. Yes, much more…um, stylish." Announced Mr. Bucket in a way that he hoped his son would approve of (thanks to his benefactor's influence) while giving the garment one good pull to ensure it completely covered his son's small bottom.

"Really?" The boy said while twisting around in an attempt to see how looked in the back. He turned back around and pulled up the hood, tugging at the pom-pom drawstring, before putting his hands in the big pouch-pocket in the front. A crooked, satisfied smile was aimed at his family. It was cozy. Grandma Georgina was very good at her craft. Her skills had kept the family from freezing during some difficult times. After all, yarn was far cheaper than clothes sold in the stores.

Mr. Bucket was a bit less pleased at this point. The boy looked adorable. Maybe a bit _too_ adorable… Oh, why must he be forced to look at his child in a way that a predator might? Tsk, what an awful burden.

His thoughts were disturbed by a few short, quick knocks. A familiar, friendly voice chided, "Yoo-Hoo? Anybody home?"

Charlie grinned with anticipation. Dimes could have been hidden in his dimples they were so deep.

Grandpa Joe got up quickly to open the door. "Good Morning Mr. Wonka, we've all been waiting for you." The kind old man opened the door wide to reveal the entire Bucket family and another display of food on the table set for his arrival.

Willy Wonka smiled broadly at the display. No words came out. Surprisingly, he started to look upset as he entered. Pressing a hand to his face, his eyes were getting glossy and glittering all shades of purple and blue as if he would cry.

The family was torn between looking at his face or his wardrobe, for the candy-maker was wearing a similar skin-tight stocking. One that was covered with a stunning embroidered suede tale-coat. The fitted, cropped jacket was accented with a layered lace cravat and matching intricate cuffs spilling out of the sleeves; burgundy jeweled cuff-links picked up on the usual band of his top hat. Though the coat tails hung down to the back of his knees, much of his torso and all of his legs were well exposed from the front. Matching boots, in the same soft material, went up in angled points to right above his knees. The complex stitching forming swirling W's up the sides of their plum material.

"Mr. Wonka, are you alright? Is something wrong?" Grandpa Joe was the most concerned, after Charlie, who had run to his side and taken the arm leaning on a new, odd-looking cane.

"It's nothing, it's just…I don't deserve you all. To think, once I tried to separate you from Charlie. ..how _selfish_ of me. No wonder Mr. Bucket thinks I'm such an awful person." He lowered his lids in an exaggerated look of despondence.

You son of a bitch. Rubbing it a little bit more then, are we? However, Mr. Bucket didn't dare say that out loud. Oh no, he believed he understood that taking Wonka head-on had been a very bad idea. It was definitely time for a new tactic.

The father walked over to the man, "Mr. Wonka, you know, I've been thinking about everything and I feel just awful. Really, it must be all the strain of adjusting to everything."

It was the engineer's chance to try out _his_ acting skills today. He added with emphasis, "Please, forgive me."

The chocolatier was caught very off guard. The drama of his expressions changed to annoyed bafflement. These words were not in his 'script'.

Mr. Bucket put a friendly look on his face and stuck his hand out. "Shake?"

The family seemed very pleased at this gesture, especially little Charlie, only Wonka didn't; his hand was coiled in the exact same manner as his upper lip. However, he snapped himself out of the honest emotion that was being released. He pulled on a pleasant smile and upturned brows instead and chided in his flutey voice, "Oh no, that's not necessary."

"I insist, we're gentlemen and we should settle it as such. That is, unless you still only feel comfortable touching Charlie when you aren't…um, tipsy?" Mr. Bucket's tone stayed entirely mild and he even chuckled at the end to indicate no ill will. There wasn't a trace of accusation. However, the comment had been put out there for everyone to consider and, from now on, hopefully focus on. He matched Wonka's smile.

You sneaky larva of a Vermicious K'nid. So ya still wanna challenge me? Mr. Wonka's eyes squinted only ever so slightly at the angry thoughts inside his head.

Neither man had left the other's gaze. The chocolatier finally extended his hand and allowed Mr. Bucket to grip it. He _despised_ the way it felt: large, clammy, clumsy, and boney. It was awful. The distaste could be seen in the expression on his face. A similar look occurred when the rotund Augustus Gloop fell into his perfectly sanitary chocolate river.

Mr. Bucket reveled in it. Previously, he would never have even wanted to even think about touching the peculiar candy maker, but knowing (and now seeing) how much it disturbed him made him want to do it even more. How did _he_ like feeling violated? Something akin to a smirk arose on his long face as he continued to trap Mr. Wonka in the firm handshake.

Charlie was watching his father with a little more suspicion now. He could tell something funny was going on. This wasn't really the resolution he was hoping for, was it? He supposed that 'touching' comment should have tipped him off. How long had his father been focusing on how much Mr. Wonka had been touching him? That was sort of strange and it made him feel guilty. It wasn't like he had done anything to discourage his benefactor. Actually, he'd always liked it.

Meanwhile, a certain crushing sensation had caused the Englishman's expression to change. The chocolatier got an evil glint in his eyes and squeezed harder still. Mr. Bucket heard his knuckles pop, as did everyone else.

Charlie recalled how strong Mr. Wonka had seemed when the man picked him up the other day in that dangerous dance to his bedroom. He started to worry for his father.

"Aaagh!" A half-alarmed noise escaped the English man's throat as he was released from the overly firm grip. Mr. Bucket pulled his hand toward himself and cradled it. It really hurt, but he'd probably be all right; so much for pulling that trick again any time soon. Where did he get all that strength from? His eyes managed to look back up at the man in a painful, shocked expression.

"Oopsie." Stated Wonka in a tone that dripped with saccharine. "I didn't hurt ya, did I? Couldn't have my best engineer paralyzed now, could I?"

Charlie was darting concerned looks at both of them.

"I-I'll…recover. Thank you." He was studying the dandy man while attempting to mask his fear. There was something unnatural about him in every way.

He giggled and quirked his head to the side, "Who'da thunk an old man like me would be stronger than a young buck like you?" The man proceeded to step towards the table and examine the goodies. He immediately noticed the "W" shaped pastries and gave a genuinely pleased smile.

"Handsome _and_ strong!" Grandma Georgina had gotten behind Mr. Wonka and was doing her best to catch what was visible of him under those long tales. It was harmless fun to her and put a silly puckered grin on her old face.

"Oh, hardly. You must need glasses, Gina." Wonka feigned modesty, still studying the items on the table like a lord over his manor.

"It's all that make-up he wears. Makes him look better than what he is." Stated George with a tone of jealousy from his bed.

"Uh, I'll have you know that I most certainly do not wear icky make-up. This..", the man gestured at his face, "is simply the result of an _excellent_ skin care regime."

"Really? Don't tell me you use chocolate for that as well." Said Mrs. Bucket genuinely interested. It was true that Willy had a glowing complexion despite it being deathly pale.

"I do! Coffee too, stimulates blood flow ya know. Brown sugar makes a terrific exfoliate when combined with lemon. All of my products are eatible! Well, not the shaving cream….or the hair cream." He made a face and shivered thinking of their flavors. Of course he had _tried_ to eat them, more than once.

"I'll bring some over next time if you would like. You'll look even more lovely then." He removed his hat and did a shallow bow.

Georgina finally got her peek and a look of disdain from her sister-in-law for the loud giggle and encouragement to look in the same direction.

While Grandma Josephine refused to look, she did give _Mister_ Bucket a 'you see' kind of look. Two roosters in a hen house didn't work, especially when one of them was wearing such extravagant feathers and showing off a lot more than his manners! Heavens only knew what Pagans thought of marriage! This one gave a golden ring to a mere child!

"Speakin' of skin-care and make-up. You look like you could use something to get rid of that green on yer face Georgie-boy. Here, try this. Wonka's patented remedy." He pulled a small fuzzy pill from his pocket and admired it while twisting his hand to and fro.

"Wot on Earth is that?" The old man stared disgusted at the hairy little object entrapped in the latex-covered fingers.

"Hair of the dog that bit ya of course." Wonka plopped the item into the aged man's hand with a loud bark. "Woof!"

"Anything to feel better at this point. I don't know how those tiny people handle the stuff." He shut his eyes and forced himself to swallow it. The 'fuzz' melted immediately upon contact. In a second he had an itch behind his ear and under his chin.

"Oh they fair far better than we actually. 'Round these parts we even have a little phrase; Candy is dandy, but _liquor_ is _quicker_." He gave a wry look at the people in the room.

"I want you to pretend that you didn't hear that." Said Mr. Bucket with a disapproving look toward his amused son.

The comment made Wonka smirk and give a quick chuckle.

"By golly gum Joe, you're right! The man IS a genius. My hang-over is completely gone!" All ill effects from the previous night's binge were completely gone once he'd had a good scratch.

"It also leaves ya breath smellin' minty fresh all day! Which reminds me, Joe, I left all the new perfume in the office for you to try out before ya make the usual calls. See whatcha' think!" His head was still on business amongst the myriad of other things zinging around in there.

Joe nodded expectantly while Mr. Wonka giggled.

"Please, Mr. Wonka, have a seat. Me and Charlie have been working on these all morning long. We wanted to give you a small 'thank you' for the gifts." The warmth in the mother's voice was very pleasant as she gestured to the table.

"Alright, a few moments, but Charlie and I really have a big day ahead of us." He said as he sat down and picked up one of the embroidered napkins (another extravagant gift to the family).

His pupil had immediately run to sit directly across from Mr. Wonka, but found Grandma Josephine sitting there instead. She smiled at him with great round cheeks, "Would you mind terribly if I sat here this morning? I'd like to talk to Mr. Wonka about a few things."

Mr. Wonka got a suspicious look on his face and raised an eyebrow. Oh good, more sport. He was in the mood today anyhow. He drummed his fingers quickly upon the tablecloth. "That's OK. Charlie, come sit by my side while me and yer Grandma chit-chat. Go 'head, Joesie. What's on yer mind?"

The boy sat down right next to Mr. Wonka. He couldn't believe how much different he felt being near him today. It was embarrassing; his heart wouldn't stop fluttering and he wanted so badly to touch him again. Naturally he knew that would be a bad idea in front of his family at this point. His mentor seemed to be acting rather calmly about their proximity. However, the child hoped that he was inwardly feeling a similar sensation. Was it because they were keeping their…'closeness' a secret? Was that what made everything so exciting? How strange!

Grandpa Joe had taken a seat next to his wife and was looking at her with a bit of concern. He smiled nervously at his reinstated boss.

"Mr. Wonka, my husband and I were aware long ago that you were of a different religion than most people in the town. Our family believes in tolerance so we never minded that. Actually, we figured it explained why you seemed so much more different than other people…"

A less-than-pleased look crossed Mr. Wonka's face as he continued to listen while pouring out a cup of tea for himself and his protégé.

"Different in a _good_ way, Mr. Wonka." Clarified the ever-loyal eldest Bucket member.

"In a very good way." Added Charlie.

Wonka turned his eyes towards the child. There was sadness in them that the boy felt only he could see. Still, there was a tiny smile aimed towards his heir. It disappeared as his peripheral vision caught Mr. Bucket examining his every movement. The entire family was now seated at the table. They had begun serving themselves, but the tenseness of the discussion was causing them to halt their actions.

"At any rate," Continued Grandma Josephine, "We didn't realize that you had intended on converting Charlie, or anyone else, into this Pagan religion of yours. We don't mean any offense but that's intruding a bit _too much_ into our lives, sir."

"Oh?" Wonka started, and it _felt like_ he was starting on something. The fingertips of two purple gloves were placed tensely upon the tabletop. "I didn't realize that I was the one being perceived as _intruding_. You guys are the ones living inside of _my_ factory."

"That's only so we can be with _our_ Charlie!" Interjected Mr. Bucket.

Mr. Wonka's head turned toward him at a frightening speed. "NO, it's so that HE can be with YOU. Charlie only agreed tah come here if I allowed his _family_ to live with _me_. I had been thinkin' we'd _all_ benefited from the agreement, but now I'm startin' tah wonder. Whatsamatter? You can teach him yer beliefs, but I can't teach him mine? He's a curious kid! _He_ asked _me_, I didn't force anything."

They had seen the chocolatier lose his temper before. He always raised his voice, didn't giggle, and there was a complete lack of nervousness in him altogether. It was a startling and disturbing difference. Seemed they had found another sore point in the man, similar to the time when Mr. TeeVee tried to tell him that Loompaland didn't exist or when Veruca thought whipping cows was a silly way to create 'whipped' cream.

"That's true. I did." Admitted Charlie in a soft voice. "I didn't think there was something…wrong with that."

"Niether did I." Wonka looked hurt again. His eyelashes turned downward and his hands were balled into his lap. The anger had drained as quickly as it had risen.

Charlie was starting to get upset at his family again. Mr. Wonka was a fragile person under all of his bravado. He could sense that. Why couldn't they?

There was a pause at the kitchen table. Much like Mr. Bucket, Grandma Josephine was finding that this conversation wasn't working as she had intended it too. Perhaps that was because she was trying to converse with an adult which the chocolatier ceased to be from time to time. Sometimes she wondered if he really was completely dingy. Her husband had everyone convinced he was a genius from his tales, but meeting the man in person was another story altogether. Then again, fifteen years locked up in a factory with a rare species of humans might give anyone rats in their attic!

The candymaker had taken in a deep breath and began to speak, "The wolf also shall dwell with the lamb, and the leopard shall lie down with the kid; and the calf and the young lion and the fatling together; and _a little child_ shall lead them."

Mr. Wonka focused on only Charlie as he spoke those words with great sincerity. He didn't use any of his usual slang.

Grandma Josephine gasped in response. "Isaih, eleven: six! Why, that's from the Bible! Old testament in fact!"

"I know that." Stated Wonka flatly. "I've read yer stuff. Heck, I've been listenin' to it for most of my life too! When was the last time you met a Pagan or even bothered tah learn about us? Wut can _you_ quote back at _me_, huh?"

The old woman only opened her mouth slightly, but found she had nothing to say in response. Grandpa Joe lowered his head when she looked at him.

Wonka gave a twist of his reddish mouth and glanced back up at her wrinkled, round light-colored eyes, "Didn't think so. Humph. Judge not lest ye be judged. Jesus said that one, right?"

"He did." Answered Grandpa Joe with pride at both Christ and Mr. Wonka.

Another silent pause filled the air. Every one of the Buckets was in a state of surprise. Some were feeling guilt, confusion, sympathy, and profound admiration on top of that surprise.

Satisfied that he had made his points, Mr. Wonka finally took a bite of the flakey pastry on his plate using a knife and fork. His eyes widened a great deal after tasting the morsel, "Are these my lollypop tree fruits in this syrup?"

Mrs. Bucket grinned a little at Charlie. "Why yes, yes it is. What do you think?"

"I think it's _fantabulous_! I could totally sell these thingamajiggies!" He smiled, looked affectionately at the product, and took one more careful bite. No one bothered to mention that his word of praise didn't exist. After all, maybe it simply didn't exist in _their_ vernacular. One started to wonder what one truly understood around Willy Wonka.

Several of the Buckets were pleased to see that the mood in the room had lightened. They all proceeded to eat a little. Willy always took very small bites, which he chewed very thoroughly. When trying new flavors, the man got very intense and introspective looks in his eyes: analyzing the flavors like a complex computer. The color of his outfit made their purple hue especially noticeable today.

"Did ya show 'em yer new gift yet?" Wonka casually said to Charlie, neatly dabbing at the corner of his mouth although there wasn't a crumb to wipe away.

"We all saw the ring already, Wonka." Stated Granpa George, grateful they could all get to eating now.

"Listen," the old man added. "if you're still feeling like passing out jewelry, I'd like to request a _diamond choker_."

Grandpa George did his best to mock a feminine gesture as he finished speaking: batting his invisible eyelashes and tilting his eyes upward. Seemed some humor was in order.

"I'll remember that." Said the chocolatier with a pinch of sarcasm, "But I meant his athame. It's a kind of knife."

The word was pronounced 'ah-tha-may' - as if Willy had suddenly developed a lisp.

"You mean that thing in his book bag?" Slipped out of Mr. Bucket's mouth before he could stop himself.

Both Wonka and Charlie stared at him blankly.

"Dad!" Said Charlie with annoyance. "So _you_ were the one who touched my bag. Why were you poking through my things?! You didn't touch it, did you?"

Mr. Bucket was flabbergasted. His son had never spoken to him like that in his life! This 'witch' or whatever he was; was having a very nasty effect on his child indeed.

The father responded, "I don't like that tone young man, and as a matter of a fact, I _didn't_ touch it. I pulled it out by its cord. Your _grown_ father thought it looked too DANGEROUSto touch. Also, you and Mr. Wonka should both know that I wouldn't have been in your room in the first place, except that you had been sleepwalking! I was merely tucking you _lovingly_ back into bed. And I only moved your bag because that new book of yours nearly gave me an ingrown toenail! It must weigh two stone!"

Wonka suddenly choked on his tea. He pounded on his own chest, eyes wide. When Charlie tried to touch his back soothingly, the man shook his head quickly from side to side, discouraging the contact. The boy pulled his hand away looking slightly rejected.

"Charlie was _sleepwalking_?" His mother looked at her son with great concern.

"I was?" Said the boy honestly unaware.

"Yes, you were." Added Grandma Josephine. "You were completely unaware of where you were."

Wonka and other family members made note that Josephine seemed aware of the incident as well. The chocolatier's eyes bounced between the two and narrowed his lids slightly.

Mr. Bucket added before anyone could question that fact, "And it was a good thing we were…that is, we _couldn't_ sleep last night. We were awake to catch him leaving the _house_. He said he was chasing a unicorn with _lavender_ eyes." He gave a look at the still recovering chocolatier. "He never saw any unicorns of _any_ kind until he looked into that black mirror thing of yours."

"What's that supposed tah mean?" Willy managed to croak out, one hand still pressed to his ruffled chest.

"It means that you have some explaining to do." Mr. Bucket looked confident again.

"Wha? _ME_? Uh, First of all, I have never seen a unicorn in my life. Not inna dream, not inna house, not with a mouse, not here or there. Secondly, Madame Rose assures me that a horned horse is a very positive and powerful sign. Thirdly, it's a good thing you _were_ afraid of the knife because a gift athame is a great honor – it's got all my energy in it and you'll mess it up by touchin' it with yer fiddly fingers. Fourthly. Oh! That sounds funny, _'fourthly'_. Anyway…er…did you…ah…read the book that _Charlie_ had picked outta my library?" Mr. Wonka seemed particularly nervous at the last bit of his statement and emphasized that THE BOY had chosen the book. Of course he had, since it was left right _next_ to him. But that was beside the point.

"_No_, I thought he'd get upset at me for going through his things." He gave a glance toward his huffy son. Why wouldn't Wonka want him to look at a book about Greek and Roman History? Maybe he didn't want him to know anything at all. That's what it felt like.

Mr. Bucket continued puzzling over everything Willy had said. "Who's Madame Rose? What do you mean _your energy_. How does a knife hold energy of any kind?"

Mr. Wonka stood up placing the napkin that he had in his lap onto his plate. "Look, it'll be easier if I simply get the goshdarn thing and show ya."

"Uhn?" Charlie watched as the man marched over to the newly installed ladder and started to climb up. He stood up too and went to follow him. This time he was the one to secretly enjoy the view. Of course, Willy got to see Charlie without any underwear in that same position. So, as usual, he still had the upper hand.

Mr. Bucket watched them while resisting the urge to protest. He figured they'd be fine if the entire family was sitting right below them. Wasn't like he couldn't pop up there in a moment's notice. He took a few more contemplative chews of his breakfast and glanced at his concerned wife. They began discussing the details of the night a bit more.

The boy's attention was concerned with other things. He found his mentor paused in thought as he was absorbing the asymmetrical space that was his heir's humble sleeping quarters. It was only the second time he had been up there.

Mr. Wonka was reflecting on the first time he had seen this mini-shrine to himself and his creations. The boy had taken him up to his room the day after they had been moved into the factory. It was that very second that he realized that he had not simply chosen, "the least rotten child" from the scrying mirror's reflection. It was also in that very second that he realized there was a reason for that nagging empty sensation he had been feeling without the lad. He had definitely done the right thing letting the Oompa-loompas convince him to give the little boy a second chance. Ah, such loyal workers! It certainly wasn't easy to talk him into doing anything – least of all, leaving his factory.

The candymaker sat at the foot of his heir's bed with a proud look on his face and motioned for the boy to come over to him while patting his knee. Charlie shyly walked over and gratefully allowed himself to be embraced. It was wonderful to be enveloped in that heady scent and a relief to feel his touch again. All the sensations seemed more intense today. Was his affection growing that much?

Holding him tightly, like a favorite stuffed animal or a security blanket, Mr. Wonka said in a melancholy voice, "All this jibber-jabber is hurtin' my jaw. Why can't they understand me like you do?"

"Please," the boy pleaded, "be patient with them."

"Oh believe me…_I am_." Came the somewhat ominous response. Mr. Wonka nuzzled the child's neck and whispered further, "I really liked that kiss you gave me last night, it left me havin' some difficulty getting to sleep myself."

"Sorry." Said Charlie with an unapologetic smile. "You're all smooth today."

"Mmn?" Willy looked at him confused, then figured out the reference of his comment. A sound of distaste escaped him as his mouth turned downward, "Tsk, Uhn. I was over-due for my weekly shave. I didn't really want you to see me like that. Very uncouth."

"Oh, I didn't mind…" Charlie said with a slight pink in his cheeks remembering the sensation and reflecting on it. Then he thought; _Once a week_? Dad and both his Grandfathers have to shave every day! Then again everyone in his family needed a haircut more than twice a year too.

While the boy's mind had wandered, so had his mentor's.

"Uhh…ya know, this 'little red riding hood' of yers is makin' me feel like the big bad wolf." The man tugged at the garment and nipped at his slender neck.

A dizzying pulse went through the child from the contact. He let out a tiny yelp of excitement, noting that the fabric of the bodysuit on the man's leg was very thin underneath him, which meant that it would be equally thin in _other_ places as well…

"Charlie? Are you two all right up there?" Called up Mr. Bucket. It had only been about a minute, but he still didn't like the delay or the high-pitched sound that came from his son. Grandma Josephine was attempting to look through the little worn holes in the floor, but could only make out the pair's feet near each other.

"Peachy keen! Just takin' in the sights!" Trilled back Mr. Wonka with a Cheshire cat grin at Charlie. A small giggle was exchanged between the pair. The idea of doing things to his heir in the tiny bedroom, with his family right downstairs, was going to overwhelm his body in exactly two seconds. This particular opportunity would _not_ be a good time for that.

He cleared his throat and slid the boy off of his knee. Besides, he was only giving the child and he some much needed reassurance, which he'd accomplished. Willy Wonka stood up and grabbed the bag while whispering, "I feel like I'm bein' examined like a skittery ole' lab rat. Let's get this over with so we can go have fun!"

The boy got a mournful look on his face. He recalled how funny the chocolatier's words had seemed when he first spoke them, "_You can't have a family dangling over yer head like some dead goose. A chocolatier has to fly FREE and SOLO! Goshdarn the consequences!"_

He also thought about the warning that came with his recent promise, "_It won't always be…pleasant_."

The child hadn't realized that the family discord could be part of the 'unpleasantness'. He assumed the action of his promise would affect only himself. Perhaps that wasn't possible if one had a family.

"OK People. Here it is!" The fancifully dressed man held up the gleaming black sheath and removed the double-sided blade inside. Gasps filled the room. It was beautiful, but it was also dangerous looking.

"Now, as you know, I have been teaching Charlie self-defense techniques along with his academics. Not only are such skills practical but they also quicken the mind. Creation takes a real sharp shooter and a drive to succeed is enhanced through dueling. That and he really gets a kick out of pretending to be Sir Galahad."

The family all looked at each other as Wonka laughed and demonstrated a fencing position at his delighted pupil. Mr. Bucket slapped a hand over his face, thinking - We're all living and working for an insane candymaker who has given my son a knife…and a ring.

"Anyway!" Willy bounced back to a lecture posture and gestured out one hand. "_This_ is simply another step in that direction. Nuthin' tah make a big deal about."

"Thas' sharp. The swords were wooden, right?" Cleared up Mr. Bucket.

A broad smile with eyes darting sideways accompanied the reply, "Uh-huh". A pause followed by a "…usually."

"Usually?!" The father leaned forward while his wife put one arm around his shoulder biting her fingernails with the other.

Mr. Wonka took an exasperated sigh and pressed one beautiful, antique lace, cuffed hand to his temples. He gestured his other hand in a rolling motion with the knife toward whom he addressed next, "George, wouldja back me up on this."

"He's a boy. He should learn to fight. You should be grateful he's teaching him something manly. Let's all get to work already." Simply stated the silvering, bald-domed man.

"Half a mo'." Insisted his son, "What about that 'energy' thing?"

The older man's eyes had not left the object in Mr. Wonka's hand. It was not as if the chocolatier needed anything to make him more menacing than he already could appear.

Charlie took the opportunity to explain on that point, since he could see that his mentor's patience was wearing thin. He walked over and took the athame from Mr. Wonka's other hand with great reverence. Then he walked over and presented it to his family while it lay upon his palms like an offering. He hoped the gesture would remove of all of its menace. Some members gasped, but they couldn't help studying the smooth handle and gleeming blade. Like his benefactor's skin, it had a peculiar way of reflecting the light: as if it's glow came from another place entirely.

The chestnut haired boy explained in a simple and gentle manner. "It's nothing to be afraid of. See? By _energy_, he means this is a special thing like prayer beads or a family heirloom. Mr. Wonka just calls it something different."

The boy continued as he walked around the table displaying the mystical object for everyone to examine, "Many of Mr. Wonka's machines and recipes are very delicate and the knife represents the _trust_ he feels in me to handle such responsibilities. It doesn't need to be used as a weapon – the blade is more symbolic than anything. I _promise_ I'll be careful. Besides, you said you wouldn't get mad if we told you things from now on. 'Member?"

Charlie gave his patchwork dressed family the best adorable 'little boy grin' in his wardrobe.

His mentor peeked out from under the material of the fanciful cuff. Wow, he was impressed. That was a totally different way to go in the vicinity of manipulation. Huh. He never thought of cuteness and sincerity as _weapons_ before. Well, they certainly had been disarming him lately, hadn't they?

Mr. Bucket's mouth stayed slightly parted as he looked at the chocolatier, his brooding father, his encouraging wife, contemplative Grandma Josephine, cheerful Grandma Georgina, and dedicated Grandpa Joe before looking back into the lovable face of his son. Mr. Bucket really had nowhere to go at this point. He could forbid it, but that would go over like a lead balloon. "Charlie…I…I'm not going to say that I don't trust you, but I certainly hope Mr. Wonka isn't going to make giving you _artillery_ a habit. It still seems…unusual for making chocolate and candy."

"Nonsense. It's no more unusual than a satellite or a Great Glass Elevator or…a Golden Ticket. For you see, my dear Buckets, things can be connected in the most startling of ways if one only has the eyes to see it. Charlie is already beginning to understand that." The man said this in his usually animated, over-enunciated and instructive manner that rubbed the boy's father the wrong way. He had also widened his own unusual optics at the phrase, "eyes to see it".

Still, his statement gave everyone great pause; it was very thought provoking. How someone who often acted like a child or someone one apple short of a barrel could sound so wise was a mystery.

"Now then! May Charlie and I _please_ get on with our day?" Mr. Wonka had already picked up his cane in anticipation of release from the Bucket household. His cane was different today. The length of it was more oval than circular, it was sleek and black (like the sheath of the athame knife) with silver accents, and possessed a long, horned bone handle that curled around his hand in place of where the usual spiral ball would normally reside. It was an exotic-looking thing that went well with the fanciful outfit.

The mother protested their departure, "But you hardly ate anything! At least let me pack you a snack to go."

She immediately started to assemble a collection of food for the two of them.

Mr. Wonka stood in the doorway watching her with a transfixed gaze; sadness seemed to flicker where the darkness ate their glimmer. Eyes were indeed the windows to the soul and Willy Wonka's revealed the complexities of kaleidoscope. The man snapped out of his thoughts with a quirky request for their treats to be put into a basket. In fact, he insisted that they were presented in exactly that manner.

Grandma Georgina gleefully dumped out the knitting from one of hers and handed it to Charlie's mother for the towel wrapped treats. Only when the boy took the basket did the family understand the joke. Mrs. Bucket, Grandma Georgina, and Grandpa Joe giggled at the image of Charlie in the red hooded garment with the woven basket.

"Hey, whatever it takes to keep him from huffing and puffing and blowing our house down." Stated George slapping his halted son on the back.

From a slight distance, Mr. Wonka called out, "Mr. Bucket, I'll try tah find time to stop in on you today. My Oompa-loompas tell me you're having some trouble with my purple prints. Guess I shoulda made them simpler. Oh, well. T.T.F.N!"

Mr. Bucket looked at him with his face a bit contorted. He knew the OL's would snitch, he knew what "purple prints" were (blue prints in purple ink), he got the implied insult about his intelligence, but the last bit made no sense at all.

"Tah tah for now!" Announced Charlie gleefully as he was pulled away.

The Oompa Loompas could be heard singing in the background as their unique employers headed into the wild grassy field:

_Give a man enough rope, _

_And he'll hang himself, the giant dope!_

_Waiting to strike,_

_Holding our might,_

_It's a show to watch them fight!_

_In order to win one pure heart,_

_First the family's worry must part,_

_We will not pry, _

_We must not force,_

_Simply let things follow course._

_For who is foolish and who is wise,_

_When love beats out the sweetest prize?_

Fortunately, it was always a bit tricky to make out the words in their heavily rhythmic lyrics. But Willy Wonka didn't care. Not holding the hand of his betrothed heir. Still the morning had set a mood. It most certainly had set his mind to brood. His thoughts were colored like the hood of red and something soon would surely be dead.

**Author's Notes****: SPECIAL THANKS TO EVERYONE! **

**You definitely made my last chapter better. Oh, and I know why ****Charlie and the Great Glass Elevator**** ain't as revved up as the first book. It's the Buckets! Dang it! It takes a long time to write/think about all those people! And you don't care, do you? I know all yer thinking is, "Aw, they didn't do it!" **

**Ya bunch of perves! I'm a writer not a porn machine. Nah, I'm foolin'. I missed it too, but good things happen to those who wait and I like tah make you wait. evil grin**

**A little shout out to Live Journal user "loimaga" (who goes by loi-maga) for the ****Little Red Riding Hood**** inspiration. And I hope live journal user, ktpoole891 is happy that I found a place for the famous line. **


	11. Volume 11

**Title:** Is It Scary, volume XI (Almost a _dirty_ dozen!)

**By:** IDOL HANDS

**Rating:** Mature Demented Audiences (M.D.A. – he,he,he)

**Warnings:** For dramatic and adult themes, alternate Paganism, violence, religion, and an under-aged/adult slash ("shota" or "chan") relationship in the story and history itself.

**Disclaimer:** The characters portrayed are not my property but that of the estate of R. Dahl, Tim Burton, Freddie Highmore and Johnny Depp. Edward Gorey gets a mention, but I don't think he would mind. Wonder if the great masters of fine art would?

**Summary:** More adventures in the factory! Josephine gets a visitor at work after planting more ideas in her son-in-law's head. Meanwhile Mr. Wonka is planting more ideas into Charlie's as the boy learns that the chocolatier has very strange ideas for plants. Beware, the man has a bee in his bonnet today.

"**Off with her head!"**

"So, do _you_ trust him?" Asked Mr. Bucket of Grandma Josephine.

The two of them were headed in relatively similar directions. The younger of the two slowed his usual pace to walk alongside the alert nonagarian this morning. While she was wearing a homemade outfit in common cotton patterns, her son-in-law was dressed in his usual synthetic sleek overalls and brightly colored long sleeved shirt.

"Oh, I don't know. He footles around so much that it's hard to know. One minute you think he's a genius and the next minute he seems to be completely balmy." The old woman looked like a sunken pumpkin as she contemplated the entire situation.

She continued a second later with one crooked finger to her chin, "Maybe reading up on that religion of his wouldn't be a bad idea. Know thy enemy and all that."

"Know they enemy, huh?" Repeated Mr. Bucket while pulling down the goggles that he would need in a few moments.

"I meant it figuratively of course. Mr. Wonka isn't really our enemy, more like a… troublesome eccentric old uncle." At least she thought she meant it figuratively.

Mr. Bucket laughed more wickedly than he should at the description. It drew the attention of the near-by Oompa-loompas.

"One last thing." Stated the round-faced eldest Bucket woman.

"Hm?" Asked the head engineer and father.

"Start wearing that old wedding ring of yours and I'll get my daughter to do the same. I don't care if it is a worthless old piece of junk – it's wot it stands for that matters. Wot will Willy think of a woman with no ring on her finger when he sees fit to pass them out to children in order to cement _friendship_?" The skin above her right eye had a large arch to it, causing creases of wisdom to ripple across her face. She was right; Mr. and Mrs. Bucket hadn't worn wedding rings in quite some time.

The man's lips disappeared in concern as he pondered her suggestion thoroughly. He had been so fixated on Mr. Wonka's attention to his son (in combination with his extravagant ways) that such notions about his _wife_ had never occurred to him. Grandma Josephine had added two new worries to his list: religion and his spousal relationship. His wife leaving him for Willy Wonka should seem absurd. I mean he was…that is…wot if he wasn't?

Mr. Bucket agreed and the two parted ways to their respective responsibilities. For now, they would make the best of the circumstance – both relieved to have another soul to talk to.

Meanwhile, in the Great Glass Elevator another pair were beginning their own daily adventures.

Now that the two were alone together, Charlie could finally indulge himself in admiring the extravagant outfit that his mentor had chosen to wear. Mr. Wonka looked like a fairy prince from a ballet to the child. The cropped suede jacket was nearly as fitted as the black bodysuit underneath; the tails of the embroidered garment curved with the shape of his posterior and exposed a satin lining underneath. There were black curls and swirls embellished in sequins on both the tailcoat and the boots that covered his knees. The boy had no idea that a _man_ could dress so fancifully! Somehow neither that nor the lavish lace cuffs and cravat took away from his masculinity. Perhaps that was because the part of him that established said masculinity was rather well displayed.

Mr. Wonka continued to look to his right, out through the superiorly enforced glass wall of his fantastic elevator. Their journeys to the distant rooms allowed him an opportunity to survey progress in the factory at lightening speed. Currently it was also giving his pupil an opportunity to examine his mentor's form freely. At first, Charlie tried to be respectful and not stare, but in another few seconds he couldn't resist the temptation to look in one particular place that had been on his mind. His eyes darted down only for a glimpse. Then, after ensuring that his benefactor was still examining the factory…a second time. The curve at the _front_ of the outfit held his attention for slightly longer this time as he tried to discern shapes.

Naturally, Mr. Wonka turned his head at the exact time that Charlie had his eyes locked onto his lower anatomy. So fast was the movement that his bouncy bobbed hair had swung in front of his bold lips. They weren't needed anyway; the smirk was clear even in his eyes.

The boy's eyes were as wide as saucers upon getting caught. He had the knee-jerk reaction of turning his head _away_ at the exact same speed that the man had turned toward him. It wasn't very subtle at all. Then again, neither was the color of his face at the moment. Between the two, he'd choose turning away.

He could hear the man chuckling and humming to himself in the boy's awkward silence. He spoke after a moment, "Don't feel too bad. It's my fault anyway. I'm sorta askin' for it in this get-up, but I can't help it. I'm feelin' so alive and _confident_!"

"Really?" The boy looked back at him meekly. The man was swinging his hips from side to side and had a proud smile on his face. Charlie finished softly, "Thas' good, cause I was worried that…bit with my family had put a…damper on things."

Wonka looked at the child's sad face. Something inside of him felt badly and he had no idea why. It pinched somewhere around his heart. He didn't like it. He told it to go away and stop bothering him along with the countless other things that had tried to get in there over the decades. He _had_ set things up to go this way, so he _should_ be feeling accomplished. Besides, it wasn't his fault they were such spoilsports and simpletons. Perhaps it was time for a session with Jung again.

"It has gotten kinda uptight, huh?" He said still looking at the golden ticket winner's sad face.

"Well, you're mad at Dad like he's mad at you, right?" The boy made the statement while passing the Squirrel Only Gym. Its specially designed miniature mazes, hoops, trampolines, showers, and exercise equipment made a charming distraction. Unlike Veruca, the fluffy tailed animals liked Mr. Wonka's heir and allowed him into the Nut Room's inner area without any consequence. They didn't even knock him on the head.

"Wha-Why-I-simply forget my own strength sometimes, that's all. 'Sides I didn't realize he was so _delicate_." Wonka lifted up one hand with his pinky raised.

Charlie gave him a teasingly suspicious look.

The man immediately averted his eyes. "Wut? I _do_ forget! I've learned to hold a lot back bein' around the Oompa-loompas all the time. Wouldn't want to hurt them now, would I?"

"Mmnn." The boy was listening, but having his own thoughts. Oompa-loompas were made of stern stuff from what he had seen. However, he would take Madame Rose's advice and avoid ruining any 'games' for now. He sighed. "Well, I'm mad at him a little even if you say you aren't."

A huge grin was desperately attempting to appear on Mr. Wonka's face. It would have to settle for being allowed to creep in along the edges and settle in the flicker of his orchid-colored irises. The whole thing was eliminated by the child's next comment anyway.

"The way you looked at mum before we left…it made me think. Who took care of you when you were growing up? Who made sure you had food to eat? How did you manage to live on your own when you were my age?" When the young Charlie Bucket looked up at his mentor's face there was an expression upon it as if an arrow had shot him.

The child felt terrible for having triggered such a reaction. However, it was easy to do with Wonka's sensitivity and his own inquisitiveness. "I-I'm sorry Mr. Wonka. If it's too personal you don't have to answer."

And he didn't for a few more seconds. He didn't even blink. Then, slowly, like a toy given a new battery he began to work again. "No…it's…alright. Saw that in my eyes, did ya?"

"Yes." The boy responded with trepidation.

"Whaddaya see now?" He stared directly into Charlie's blue-hazel ones. To the candy maker they nearly looked like the planet Earth itself as seen from a great distance. He stared hard.

This was one thing the boy wasn't good at – taking in all of Mr. Wonka all at once. It was too much. Yet it was over-whelming in a tantalizing way since he couldn't look away either. Looking into them he saw layers; purple, lavender, and blue colors shifting above a dark lake. Even the brows above the eyes were intimidating; bold, arched, and perched like eagles. He could move them a thousand ways, some of them riotous; it was only when they _stopped_ moving that they became the most intimidating. The pupils expanded and contracted in subtle ways that had nothing to do with the light. Inside that moment was a fraction of a second, the smallest halting of time, in which he saw…he saw…

"I don't know." The child's voice sounded breathless and pained.

Mr. Wonka didn't pull away immediately. He held him in the grasp of his gaze a second longer before looking away with disappointment. "Then ya aren't ready to hear the story."

The child's mouth parted open and he spit out what he had wanted to say but was afraid to, "I saw myself."

He still wasn't sure if he should have said it.

The eyes slid back towards him while the rest of his features stayed slack. Mr. Wonka's voice got deeper, "Go on."

Charlie gulped and tried to explain, "Under all the things I still don't really understand, under all of wot I call _magic_…" He felt very self-conscious saying that out loud. It was a secret thing that he believed but didn't quite have proof of: something that could be objected to. But it wasn't.

He continued, certain that everything he was saying was wrong or arrogant or too personal and that he was heading toward a slap. He'd take a chance that he wasn't. "I mean a piece of you…a tiny sliver was…"

The child fiddled at the pom-pom drawstrings. His eyes caught the new exotic cane while still deliberately avoiding his mentors. He quickly threw them forward as he stopped in reaction. No fiddling.

Charlie's eyes watered up, "I thought I saw…pain, and hunger, and…loneliness…and so much sadne--"

Each word hurt more to say. His throat was closing in on him. He really had felt such things in his life and couldn't bear the idea of Mr. Wonka having been through the same. It brought back his own pain all over again. Desperate for privacy in a place where none could be found, he resorted to hiding his face under a drawn up arm; the knitted shawl creating small curtain.

"Bet ya didn't know that was inside of yerself." The voice had an undercurrent of coldness to it.

The boy's head shook back and forth with a sniffle.

The corner of Mr. Wonka's mouth turned downward and an ashamed expression replaced the previous one. He sort of tapped Charlie's arm, "I uh,…I didn't mean tah do that ya know."

The boy lowered his arm and peered up at the chocolate maker. A second later he burst forward and wrapped his arms very tightly around the man. "Bu-but _you_ didn't have _anyone_ when you felt like that. I did."

The momentum of the elevator and the quickness of their next turn managed to throw them off balance and against one of the walls. Mr. Wonka was caught completely off guard. He allowed himself to absorb the sensations of compassion and love – somehow it felt good and hurt at the exact same time. His father, the dentist's embrace had felt similar, something akin to alcohol on an open wound. He gently pushed the boy away from himself by his narrow shoulders.

His pupil couldn't complain since they both had to stop and wave around. They were completely surrounded by a group of cheerful and floating Oompa-loompas in the Fizzing Lifting Drinks room. Mr. Wonka had allowed Charlie and his family to indulge in the carbonated concoctions whose bubbles made one become weightless and allowed them to fly. It was one of those perfect first days. Then again, maybe no day had been truly perfect – he merely had found all his family's griping and uncertainty to be amusing. A little while later and the joke had worn off.

The echoing of belching in varying pitches bid them farewell as the elevator continued to speed off. The tiny floating men with long ropes and anchors disappeared out of all view. A lace handkerchief was dangled in front of the child as he wiped at his cheeks. The boy looked back at Wonka who wasn't making eye contact with him.

"I survived, 'kay? That's all that's important." He said in a graven tone. "I…I can't handle anymore _jibber-jabber_."

He was shutting himself off again. Charlie could feel it like a circuit overload. No more personal questions or heavy emotions right now. Perhaps reminding him of a more pleasant time would help.

"May I ask, where we're headed?" He glanced coyly upward, "Is it the Forbidden Room again?"

The candymaker's lifeless expression livened up slightly. He bit his bottom lip and turned one eyebrow upward, "Much as I'd like that, No. I promised Madame Rose I wouldn't take ya there without…_supervision_."

"Big bad wolf." Charlie chided in jest.

Wonka managed to chuckle softly at that. Then his face froze, biting only one side of his lip and keeping the one eyebrow upward in a less certain manner. "That reminds me…we should make a quick stop in The Literary Allusions Room and return that toe-stubbing book of mine."

A flick of his finger and they were off in another direction.

Charlie followed Mr. Wonka into the library. Seeing the room in all it's softly tinted glory he had to mention, "I always like staring at the lollypop wall. I think it's all the swirls and things. No wonder you wrote 'Dare to Dream' in it."

"Huh? Oh. Good to know. They don't make very good scrying mirrors though. Believe me, I've tried. But I guess yer right, they are still neat tah look at. Each one comes out different like a snowflake. Yeah." He paused briefly with his young friend to stare at the ripples and bubbles in the thick layer of solid syrup.

In a moment the boy watched him climb up one of the built-in ladders to a fairly high shelf. The man grunted a bit as he did so, muttering something about his leg. The boy was surprised that, while looking up, he could still make out the titles of the books from down where he was. Had his eyesight improved?

"Mr. Wonka, Can I read the book next to the Greek and Roman one? The one about ancient Japan?" The child's voice politely inquired.

"Uh..well, that one also has stuff about…things that took place in history similar to what went on during the reign of Alexander the Great." A nervous giggle followed.

"Really? You mean the men and the boys in that country also…" The child couldn't manage to finish his sentence.

"Yeah." Wonka's voice was high-pitched again and there was a second giggle.

"Really?!" The boy repeated with more surprise.

Mr. Wonka came down with the book and handed it to him, "See fer yerself if ya don't believe me. I never joke."

The boy clutched the book with some embarrassment, looking at it, then Wonka, then it again. "Go on, scoot, scoot. It's perfectly safe to read for a bit while yer in here. Besides, I got a few other subjects that I wanna brush up on before we continue onward."

As usual, whether the boy initially believed it or not – what Mr. Wonka said _was_ true! Amongst all the information about Ancient Japan was the fact that Buddhist monks and Samurai warriors had relationships with young, often child-aged assistants and protégés. In some instances the relationship became _life-long_ partnerships. The Bucket child studied the band around his ring finger. A warm, special feeling ran through him and caused his heart to flutter uncontrollably.

The book went on about how valuable such relationships could be, how they were considered normal & positive and were deeply cherished by those who practiced them. The only difference from the Greeks was that the boy was encouraged to make the first move toward the adult male. Charlie couldn't suppress a naughty grin at such an idea. Afraid he'd get caught, he cleared his mind and read on.

There was also a type of theater called 'Kabuki' where _all_ the roles were played by men. Those actors who convincingly portrayed the idealistic female parts were the most revered and sought after by top warriors and powerful men! When he turned that page of text, he found glossy pages of woodprint artwork from the period. He was shocked at how explicit the old drawings were, but resisted the urge to gasp or make a sound. Now he had a good idea of what his mentor looked like underneath that elastic garment!

One finger in his mouth (a habit he picked up from his mother), he turned to make sure Mr. Wonka was still on the ladder. He was. However, he had just pulled a long tassel that dangled from the ceiling. Subsequently, a good-sized model airplane that had been resting on a shelf, activated, and flew around the shelves in a circle until it reached the man on the ladder who called it.

A model of a flying device decorated each level of the bookshelves, items such as: a bi-plane, a blimp, a rocket ship, even a U.F.O. shaped one. All of them were designed to hold things. The boy had assumed they were merely models. Mr. Wonka proceeded to plop the bound volumes into the seats of the strange-looking one that he had called. Barely making a small buzzing sound, the vehicle flew down to the table, while Charlie watched it enraptured. So, _that's_ wot those tassels were for!

"I've never seen a plane that looked like that before." He studied the intricate thing with fascination. It looked as if it were made of paper and wood; the wings resembled bird's wings rather than those on a traditional jet airplane.

"I based it on Leonardo da Vinci's 'Ornithopter'. Yeah. He was an Italian guy who came up with the idea for men flying in the year 1480. Talk about ahead of yer time! You should read about him too. He was an artist, a scientist, a rebel, an inventor and…" The man had finally walked his way over to where Charlie was. He reached over the distracted child's shoulder and tapped at the art pages that were exposed in his pupil's book.

_Now_ the boy gasped, blushed, and shut the book with a sudden and piercing:

"**whap!"**

"Oh!" Wonka jerked up his hand, "Good thing I got fast reflexes or I'd be one pointer finger short right now little boy. And that'd be a pity 'cause I am _awfully_ fond of pointin' at stuff." Charlie felt a sharp pinch on his left earlobe.

"Yer lucky that I'm plannin' on workin' out my aggression in _other_ ways today or you'd be gettin' a lot more than a pinch." After chastising his pupil, Wonka flipped up his coat tails and sat down at the head of the table a few chairs away.

"So, you're saying that Mr. da Vinci was a…" The boy was rubbing his sore ear and anxious to change the subject back to the previous one.

"Yup. He liked _boys_, young, pretty ones. Usually kept them as _assistants_ for many years. Drew pictures of them even." Mr. Wonka sounded distracted, as he was busily laying out the four books in front of himself, opening each one to a specific page. Charlie noticed that they were in more than one language and that one looked scientific.

Suddenly he looked up from his texts. "I'd like tah draw a picture of you too sometime if you'd let me."

"Y-you would? But, I'm not p-_pretty_ at all." That last comment felt funny to say out loud. He fiddled with his hair in hopes of reassurance (a habit he had picked up from his father).

Wonka's eyes got a wise look in them and a smile to match. It was the kindest he had looked all morning since that barely visible, private grin during breakfast. "Then all yer mirrors must be broken kiddo. Ya GOTTA let me paint you now so that I can show you the beauty that _I_ see."

This time the child wasn't upset when the red color flared into his cheeks. Eyes turned away and fingers on the pom-poms of the hooded shawl's drawstring, he shyly answered, "Alright, if…if you insist."

"I most certainly do." The smile was still pleasant despite the eyes taking on a glimmer of 'wolf'. The boy had continued studying the puffy balls of cotton so he never noticed.

A few seconds of flattered reflection followed while the child realized how much better he felt about everything between them again. It made him come to the conclusion that Willy Wonka was very good indeed at making him feel comfortable about things that were viewed as odd; once understood from another point of view, they hardly seemed unusual at all. In fact, people who _didn't_ understand were starting to look far odder. He looked back at his mentor, who was still peering over his multitude of information, "I had no idea that so many people in history did that sort of thing…famous ones even."

"Yeah." Wonka chirped back as he tapped a line in the index of one of the books and quickly flipped to the correct chapter, "Michelangelo too. Well, actually, I think he was more of a cad - lovers by the dozen. Or so I've heard. Anyway, I really need tah concentrate, so stay quite for a few minutes. 'Kay?"

Charlie pushed his lips flat together and fiddled with his ring under the table. Something deep inside him was glad that he probably wasn't going to be one of _dozens_. It was still hard to believe that he could be so special to someone a hundred times more special than himself.

Wonka took a fast breath, widened his eyes and proceeded to scan the words in the book to his upper left at an amazing speed. The eyes darted back and forth in a way that indicated he was actually reading! In approximately thirty seconds, he flipped the page, and turned his attention to the book at the _lower_ left, before moving on to the one on the upper and lower right side. The entire process was repeated with all four books.

It wasn't possible! _No one_ could read that fast! Charlie was watching with his mouth open. So _that's_ how he managed to read _all_ the books in the library!

In mere moments Mr. Wonka had read the data he required in all four books. A small chuckle followed as he closed the last one. To his pupil's curious eyes, he stated, "Edward Gorey – his stuff cracks me up every time. Ah, a little nonsense now and then is relished by the wisest men."

The fancifully dressed man piled up the four he had been reading and picked up the others. "Here, put these in yer book bag. They're about Paganism – read 'em, show 'em to yer family, sever yer father's toes with 'em. They're perfectly safe. C'mon, let's get this show on the road!"

"Mr. Wonka?" Charlie hesitated as the chocolatier sauntered toward the vaulted door.

"Hm? What is it?" He twisted at the waist, one hand prone with their basket and one elegantly grasping the cane.

"Maybe we _should_ let my family see the other books. Maybe then they'd understand." His voice sounded so hopeful and pure.

Willy's eyes searched around as he did the same inside his mind, "Uh, maybe not _just_ yet Charlie. Give 'em a little more time to adjust tah things then…maybe. Anyway, I'm kinda enjoying keepin' it secret. Feels more…"

"Special?" The boy suggested.

"Yeah." He answered sweetly, even though that wasn't one of the words that were springing to mind: passionate, kinky, and erotic were. However, this one pleased his heir more so it would suffice. The man waited for the child to reach his side so that he could hold his hand again.

The rooms continued to come into view as they got back aboard the transparent transportation device. Eventually, the elevator shifted them into some unpredictable position. They had reached a point where it would release and free-float before hooking back onto an entirely new system of tracks and pulleys like a sophisticated trapeze act. How _had_ Mr. Wonka designed such a complex, strange system? It reminded Charlie of the game "Mousetrap". His head was moving all around to take in the mechanical marvel. He'd never ridden a rollercoaster, but they couldn't possibly compare to this!

Wonka turned his head into an equally awkward position to address his pupil, "Ah, we are headed to the Secret Ingredients Room to harvest some of my most special ingredients."

That sounded interesting! Thought his heir. Hmm, harvesting them must be rather tricky if they had to wear these flexible cat suits in order to do it.

A large circular door came into view; it had the symbol-based language of the Oompa-loompas written in bold, red print under a yellow and black striped awning. The door split open in a spiraling motion allowing the elevator to slide in. It shut immediately after they entered. They were moving far above a vast and complex jungle. Below were the tops of strange trees, vines, and the occasional splashes of vivid colors. Something buzzed loudly past the glass near Charlie at a speed that made it impossible for him to make out what it was.

The boy looked at his mentor whose grin had disappeared and was surveying the room with a deeply studious gaze. He clutched his new, strange cane tightly and squelched the fingers of his other hand together.

Charlie wondered what was making him so tense.

The elevator stopped in front of a sprawling tree house. It rested at the top of a tree with a trunk as broad as a skyscraper. The boy stepped off with his mentor and immediately looked around upon entering the spacious dwelling. He placed his goodie basket onto the nearest tabletop; its legs were made out of the real feet of some animal with giant claws. He continued to examine all of the wooden and rustic looking interior while the chocolatier opened up a locked armoire. The youngest Bucket took note that Mr. Wonka found the correct key for it on the _first_ try. He got a quick, cute smirk at the turn of his bow-shaped mouth.

"We've been joy ridding until now. It's time for some ugly truths today, Charlie." The man said while pulling out what looked like iridescent armor. One large set in magenta and purple hues and a smaller one in royal blue and green colors.

That comment had made the boy nervous. He walked back over from his inspection of the swing set on the porch. "Why do truths have to be _ugly_, Mr. Wonka?"

"Because…there's nowhere tah hide." His face acquired a far-away and dangerous look while he stared downward into some unseen oblivion. Quickly the eyes shot up again with a meaningless smile and his usual quirky laugh.

His pupil blinked up at him. Wonka flexed his fingers and looked around until a grappling hook, which he had laid on the table, caught his attention. "Hey, checkit out."

The man picked up the metal object and tucked it under his sleeve, puffed out his ruffled chest, covered one eye with the other hand, and tilted his hat fitted head in a menacing way, "Argh!"

Charlie laughed out loud at the obvious similarity to Captain Hook. Wonka laughed menacingly back and approached to pull off the red hoodie with his new claw-like hand. The warmth of the garment in the warm environment had become cumbersome anyway. The whole charade helped to take the edge off the moment.

Wonka then put the hook down to remove his hat and outer coat, leaving the cravat and the removable cuffs. Once those were removed, his entire sleek physique was revealed in the black body stocking save for his gloves and the suede boots. The boy glanced up and down the slim muscular silhouette as his mentor did the same to his delicately formed one. They exchanged polite smiles. The man took his heir's hand and encouraged him to twirl around once before doing the same in a ballet stance. He ended with a regal bow to the floor.

While bent down, he began to show the child how to attach the unique armor. The boy was informed that it was made from the shells of insects from far-away and rarely traversed places. The hard and shimmering plates did look and feel like parts of a beetle, but it must have been one as big as the stuffed one in Mr. Wonka's room to create such large and seamless plates.

Eventually Charlie felt his mentor's hand reach under and caress his derriere. It seemed like a superfluously long gesture in order to attach the codpiece correctly underneath him. Once he was over his surprise, the boy looked down at his benefactor with an amused and suspicious glance.

The man began a lecture, hand still cupped in place, as he looked up at his heir. "Alexander the Great and King Arthur were warriors of the highest degree. Even in the face of fear and great peril, they never backed down. Bravery and courage are real important and I think you got that in spades. Today we're gonna put it to the test!"

A gleaming, commercial quality smile followed.

He stood up and continued while strapping his armor to himself. Guards were put onto his forearms and over the shins of the boots. A chest plate that recreated the structure of muscles was next. "Think of this like a real-life video game. Unrestrained aggression like that mumbler had is a waste, but a skilled, useful, and _timely_ release of malevolence…"

The features of his face had started to resemble arousal. He took a breath of anticipation and re-focused on his heir's face with a wide smile, "Now, _that's_ healthy!"

Charlie did not look as certain as his friend about that statement. Apparently the armor was not only for show or play. He watched as Mr. Wonka placed the last piece of armor onto his head. It was a helmet that bore a resemblance to those in Roman illustrations: carved low around both eyes and arched down the sides of his head with a bridge extending down the nose. The brightly colored bush across the top was especially eye-catching and commanding. However, the boy liked how it matched the chocolatier's cane in its black and silver style.

The Bucket child had a smaller helmet strapped on with a spike coming from the top. His job was to collect things, but his mentor told him to wear his knife along with the empty packs.

The man walked back over and slapped his heir playfully on his pert butt. Charlie felt a pleasant tingle run through his body. He had seen athletes do this to each other, but had no idea how it would feel to receive one. His parents had not used corporal punishment on him. Maybe it was better they hadn't from his reaction to it.

Wonka's grin was tight and genuinely excited, "Don't worry. I ain't gonna let nothin' bad happen to ya. All you hafta do is stay by my side."

The reassurance that the boy felt after that statement was short-lived as the candy-maker did something startling immediately after. Wonka had gripped the base of his cane in one hand while withdrawing the rest from the ornate, horned handle. Completely drawn, a long and slim Samurai-like sword was exposed.

Lavender eyes were reflected in extreme examination of its razor sharp metal surface. A voice (that some might describe as demented) slowly stated, "Watch…and learn."

Not long after that, Grandpa Joe was making his way over to his wife so that they could share lunch together. He often did that, but today he had lots of news to share so his pace was a bit quicker. Simply the knowledge that he was going to see Mr. Wonka's amazing factory and the man himself again had created a small miracle; he stood and danced for the first time in TWENTY years! Working in such a trusted position practically put him on cloud nine. There were still a lot of aches and pains, but they simply didn't bother him as much.

The thin man took a quick detour to see how Grandma Georgina was doing in the Whizzdoodles Room named because Wonka referred to inspirational free thoughts as such. He peered in on her room from The Great Glass Elevator and saw that she was busily knitting (a smaller version of her poncho in blue) and listening to classical music today. She had a really fun job. It was simply reacting to things that Mr. Wonka gave her and writing down what they made her think of or letting the workers do it for her. Sometimes she inspected objects or viewed them on a screen; images of new ideas for products, famous works of art, ingredients for candy, things as common as shoes, or just colors. For some reason Mr. Wonka found Grandma Georgina's random thoughts and words very inspiring. It made the old woman feel quite vital and it was hard to stop her from doing it at times. He heard her exclaim:

"Applesauce!"

"Tiddly Winks!"

"Whoever heard a giraffe laugh?"

The clarity of her brain seemed to be improving since she started doing it. She even composed a poem one day, out of admiration, for the quick thinking chocolatier. It was inane and simple, but Mr. Wonka took it straight to the Oompa-loompas who made a song out of it by dinnertime. She was thrilled to no end! No wonder the old girl thought he had a schoolboy crush on her.

"Men in tights!"

Came a last response before the elevator sped over to Grandma Josephine's job in the Administration Offices. He chuckled remembering Georgina's leering at Mr. Wonka's outfit during breakfast. _His_ wife, on the other hand, thought it wasn't decent, but a long time ago such things were and they still were in fields of entertainment. The chocolatier certainly was good at looking like something from a fantasy come to life. Then again, bringing flights of fancy to life was his specialty wasn't it?

The elevator sliced down the center of layered circular floors. Mr. Wonka seemed fond of circles and especially spirals. Other strong geometric patterns could be found, but circular objects were especially prevalent. The old man tipped his hat to the bevy of female Oompa-loompas in matching pink cardigans and pearls. They were all chuckling away.

"Wot's so funny?" He walked over to his wife in the cafeteria area. They usually had lunch in the private nook since she preferred it that way.

"Search me. Something about hot-dogs, French fries, and milkshakes for lunch is hysterical to them." She shook her head and put down the teacup to allow her husband to give her a peck on the cheek.

"I don't know about funny, but it does sound tasty." The man helped himself to a sampling of all the offerings. Lunch was often provided for the various work teams, by yet another team of chefs. Mr. Wonka had a job for whatever an Oompa-loompa had a proclivity for. The Public Relations spokesperson sat down across from Grandma Josephine at the dainty styled table. Its size was created specifically for Josephine's presence.

His wife examined the tailored and colorful suit that her husband was wearing as he sat down. It looked well on him and reminded her of his days at the candy shop. The short-brimmed hat with the ribbon was a nice touch too. The only thing she didn't like was the tie with the little swirled W's all over them. "My aren't we looking dashing today? Is our Willy dressing you now too?"

"Oh no, nothing like that." He seemed nearly embarrassed and pushed his large glasses back up the bridge of his nose. "Mr. Wonka simply likes me to dress up when I do video interviews. There's a closet in my office filled with this sort of thing. Makes a better presentation than our moth-eaten threads."

"Mn, I suppose. I like my old dresses though." She took a bite from her hot dog that caused a few of the female Oompa-loompas to titter. The old woman pursed her lips at them.

Starting on his own meal the eldest Bucket began some small talk, "I think the launch of his perfumes went well."

He flicked out his wrist to her and she smelled the intense aroma of WhippleScrumptous Fudgemallow Delight, Eau de Parfume. It reminded her of Charlie's recent birthday when he shared it all with them; such a sweet and sensitive child. She stated dreamily, "Mmm, I can almost _taste_ it."

"If you spray it on your body, you really will!" He said as a jubilant child might. Quickly he removed a chocolate colored mini-atomizer and squirted her once.

Before she could complain there was a distinct flavor on the tip of her tongue. She smacked her lips several times. "That's amazing! It tasted exactly like I had chocolate in my mouth!"

"Each one does something different! The Cinnamon Kisses makes you feel like you've been kissed all over your face. The Shakespeare Mint improves your ability to speak. The Pilatte Coffee gives you the feeling of being instantly refreshed and there's even more!"

Grandma Josephine had to laugh. "I don't know how he does it. It's as ingenious and ridiculous as Willy Wonka himself."

"You know, you gave him a rather hard time this morning. It might have hurt his feelings." This subject had been pestering his psyche all day.

"Joe, for Heaven's sake, he's a grown man. A professional and a businessman, I might add. If he can't take a little old lady voicing legitimate concerns about her grandchild's spirituality then he needs to grow up." She was quite certain in her tone.

Her husband gave her a look that said he didn't agree but didn't want to challenge her.

"We'll fix his silly Brussel sprout ice cream and then he'll see I meant no ill will, alright?" She reminded herself that compromise was necessary in both marriage and business. Still, she was also working under the pretense of 'know thy enemy'.

She sighed, "And I suppose I'll have to look into that old world religion of his…even though it seems wrong to me. Then again, orange French fries and yellow ketchup seemed wrong until I tried them."

"That's wonderful Joesie! I'm so glad to hear you say that!" His wide smile unfolded again. The smile always balanced out his distinctive nose nicely. It also went with his large ears and wide, bright eyes.

The old man hesitated a moment before saying, "Uh, he made a fragrance for each of us too. I didn't want to say anything if you were still upset."

"Oh? And wot are they pray tell?" She amused her husband by quoting a Shakespeare term without aid of the minty fragrance.

"Peanut Brain for Georgina – it improves mental clarity and is one of her favorite smells, Boulangerie for your daughter – it smells like a French bakery and causes relaxation, Butter Scotch for George - it smells like the drink and gives one a giggle, Cherry Moonmen for Mr. Bucket – smells sort of like cherry cola and will make him temporarily weightless."

"I'm surprised he made something for Charlie's father. They're really at odds right now." She scooped out a swallow of her vanilla milkshake. Her husband had chosen strawberry. Nearly any flavor was an option from the shake machine in the kitchenette.

"He's been working on these since we entered the factory. I think he hoped it would help with the construction of that machine and inspire him about space. Obviously it's too dangerous to release to the public." The old man made a pickled frown while looking at the burgundy vile intended for his son-in-law. The engineer was certain to reject it.

"And wot's my fragrance?" Grandma Josephine couldn't help being slightly suspicious.

"Vanilla Envelops. I think this is the most thoughtful of his fragrances. I told him how you wore that kitchen ingredient as perfume when we were courting and that your letters would therefore smell of it." He got a far away look as he described the reasoning in his usual storybook voice. Then the kind-faced old man produced another vile from his coat pocket and placed it over to her side of the dishes.

"Wot does it do?" She asked while picking up the crème colored vile.

"He said an intelligent person like you should be left to guess." The old man tried to look reassuring.

"Cheeky Devil." She tisked.

"Actually that's my fragrance…Rosy Cheeks!" He pulled out a pink colored vile and spritzed himself.

"Oh my, Joe, you haven't smelled of roses in _ages_! Men don't even do that sort of thing anymore. It's all about musky colognes now." She waved her hand in the air in a way to shoo away the breeze. Her own tastes did not run in that direction. Mr. Bucket had been chastised more then once for overdoing his spicy cologne when they had two nickels to rub together. At least poverty had bought her nose peace.

"Ah, but _women_ like _flowers_." Responded Grandpa Joe. As per the description, a wonderful plume of color had burst into his cheeks as if he were a young man in love for the first time.

"Quite true. You drove me _mad_ with that! I loved borrowing your scarves and jackets." Her own cheeks had grown rosy with the memories of being a far more beautiful woman. A lot of men bothered her, but she only had eyes for the earnest and poor Joe Bucket. Her family hadn't approved. She married him anyway – even their names reassured her that they were destined to be together. It was the main reason that she hadn't stood in her daughter's way in her choice of husband.

"You see, he's really not a bad chap. Sometimes…" He took her hand in mid-sentence, "the old ways are better and we old folks need to remind people of it."

"Hmm, today's turning out to be a pleasant day after all." She leaned over and gave her husband a sincere kiss and thought about the day that the factory first opened. The gesture was punctuated by another cascade of tiny female giggles.

However, the day was less pleasant for others half way across the Never Neverland which called itself a chocolate factory.

Charlie had been through quite a lot in the time since they had left the safety of the tree house, least of which had been swinging down to the surface by way of vines. Their first task had been to gathering the flowers of an enormously bulbous man-eating plant. That wasn't easy to do while dodging and splicing the deadly sting of whizzing whangdoodles. The reason for their presence being that while they tasted awful, it was the only thing that could pollinate some of the retched foliage that much tastier things came from or ate. It was also a great way to keep recipe thieves at bay.

There was an even deadlier spin to this complication because Mr. Wonka had grown bored of fighting _regular sized_ insects. A bit of genetic tampering and there were far larger whangdoodles and their mutant offspring to be found deeper in the jungle. Eventually Charlie grew to understand something about a "pace" and found himself able to dodge their well-aimed stingers as well as his mentor. His fear turned into pride.

Still, being able to keep pace and collect items wasn't enough in the fiercely inhabited growth. Each task seemed harder than the last. The shin guards on Mr. Wonka's legs seemed to keep him from needing any cane. He was moving at a terrific speed in the humid overgrowth and had long since explained that the writing on the entrance had been Loompish for **"DANGER - KEEP OUT!"** This was _not_ a place for tiny Oompa-loompas. It was a place that Wonka used to work out his aggressions and near as his pupil could tell – his violent fantasies.

A man whose eyes looked like an animal's turned to check for Charlie's safety again. He was splattered with the bright blue sap of the plant that had almost eaten him. The boy gripped his athame with a shaky hand. Turned out that Wonka believed in using the Pagan devices for more than metaphysical purposes. "C'mon, c'mon, I told ya to stay close."

There was a slightly annoyed tone as he reached his bucket leather gloved hand back at his heir. Charlie couldn't help it. He had suspected it existed, but actually seeing this side of his mentor was frightening him. As they had slid down the poles, from far above the treetops, something had clicked "off" inside of the chocolatier. The boy reluctantly dashed the few steps to his side. "I-I don't know how much more of this I can take, Sir. I've never k-killed anything before."

Someone wearing his friend's face looked down at him in a puppet motion, "Sure ya have. What, ya never squished a bug? You ate a hot dog yesterday. Whatdaya think that's made outta? Play-dough? Ha! It's meat. _Dead_ meat. That's what."

An uncertain look was still on the child's face. He gripped the knife in both hands and nervously looked around. Strange noises were everywhere to be heard and nothing looked completely familiar. Since he had most definitely never been to a jungle, he wasn't sure what one _should_ look like, but textbooks and television specials had never covered things like caramel weaving spiders or two-headed snakes.

Willy stopped to wiff at the air. A quick smile revolved onto his features, "Smell that? That's ripe tum-tum fruit!"

He gripped the boy's hand and hurried toward a gnarled tree with draped, twisted branches. The name of the fruit was familiar to Charlie from Alice in Wonderland – he had assumed it was fictional. So much for that!

A succession of irate squealing growls greeted them. The beasts looked something like a tiger crossed with a boar and a buck – it had four eyes and was ferocious and hideous looking. The beasts also had horns exactly like the one that adorned Mr. Wonka's cane-sword.

"Hornswagglers! They love tum-tum fruit almost as much as I do!" It was the joy in his voice that made the statement seem out of place. A depraved smile showed through the protective helmet. "Looks like they ain't gonna part with them easily."

"Stay here." Instructed the man as he headed toward the small herd crouched down. Wonka was focused on the weakest beast in the lot – one that had a lot of silver amongst its sparse, coarse fur. He suddenly stood up and threw his sword straight through the side of the beast. The animal collapsed immediately leaving a long blackish tongue dangling out of its mouth.

Charlie screamed. He screamed louder when all the other beasts headed straight for the corpse to devour it. Wonka turned back and shouted, "Quick, grab the fruit while they're distracted!"

Was it the fear of disobeying such a man that made his knees unlock? The child walked over to where the animals had been stuffing themselves on the fallen prickly-coated fruit. He shoved as many untouched ones as he could into one of his empty packs; the sound of eating and tearing flesh keenly in his ears behind him. As disturbing as those sounds were, he wanted to be sure they didn't stop or the animals might head his way for their next meal. He froze in mid motion at the mixed sounds of:

**Ka-SHING!**

_Thwup. _

_Thwup._ _**Grrrwaooweeel!**_

_Thwup._ yeeark!!

_Thwup._ **flump.**

_Thwup._ **flump.**

**flump.**

**flump.**

Before the last odd noise, he turned to see that Mr. Wonka was hanging upside down by the grappling hook from whence he had retrieved his long sword and ensured that all the animals had lost their heads in one fell circular stroke. So sharp was the blade that they had been completely severed before the last one's slack face fell to the floor, followed a second later by its quivering body.

**flump.**

Willy released himself from the grappling hook and safely flipped the six or so feet to the ground, a proud and triumphant look on his face. "Five at once! That's a new record!"

His flexible tongue pressed with exactly the right pressure and at precisely the right angle to ensure that not so much as a paper-cut sized bit of damage was done to it as it ran along the blade; full eye contact on his young pupil. "Mmmn. They taste way better when they've been feasting on such delectable delicacies."

The boy couldn't help backing up as his mentor approached panting. "I did it for you Charlie. Couldn't have them gobbling up my heir, could I? If you had come to the factory when I asked ya the first time, this wouldn't be freaking ya out so much. Those were valuable weeks of training that we lost."

Yet another negative reference to the boy's initial rejection of Willy Wonka's generous offer.

The child had hit the back of the tum-tum tree and could back up no further. The man kept approaching and was soon upon him. He stroked his face, "If you really wanna go into outer space, yer gonna need to be prepared to deal. Believe me, there are way worse things than a mutated Loompa-land. There's stuff out there that would make ya wanna pass out dead just lookin' at it! Of course there is also ethereal beauty…and raw power. Give and take, that's the way of life Charlie boy. Get used tah it."

The boy reflected on the bitterness in his tone and thought of their conversation inside the elevator. _I survived_…

The speech was delivered with intense (and if he wasn't mistaken) hungry dilated pupils that were examining his face and form. It was an extended version of the one that the boy had seen in the Forbidden Room when he had been chained up to the man's bed. It was the look he had fantasized about.

Then something else dawned on him, "Wait. You've seen _aliens_?! Real ones?!"

"Of course. I'm not the only one. The governments and militaries don't like tah talk about it. Which is precisely why they're gonna help me launch that magnificent satellite. Silence comes at a price. Especially mine." He had started to lick and kiss at the jaw-line and throat of the child. His sword had been sunk into the ground in order to free up his other hand for additional groping. The object glowed as strangely as the athame knife currently re-sheathed and slung over the boy's armor. A bit of light gleamed off the Corinthian helmet placed on top.

"We're really gonna be something together, ya know that? Alexander the Great and his partner Hephaistion ruled over Ancient Greece like _Gods_. Warriors and lovers: the crowds cheered whenever they kissed." He emphasized his words by wrapping one arm around the boy's slim waist and removing the child's smaller head gear before planting a firm taboo kiss onto his mouth; exactly what the chocolatier had been starving for since the gentle one he was given last night.

The words and aggression had become quite seductive together. Charlie's head was spinning in a way that only Mr. Wonka could make it do. A different sort of weakness drained the strength from his form. Then again, maybe it was the same one. A lot of his feelings for Mr. Wonka seemed to be blurring together.

"The animals." He gasped when finally released for air and made an unpleasant glance to the side where their dead bodies lay. Unlike his mentor, their presence was sort of ruining the 'mood'.

The man's face hovered like a predator, a mere inch or so, above the child's. Cruel thoughts about the penalties that the other children had suffered for their flaws were turning him on further. "Necessary sacrifices. There are _always_ necessary sacrifices my dear boy."

Perhaps the statement created a prophecy of its own for upon its completion, the sensation of the larger body being pressed against the boy was suddenly yanked away. The only thing Charlie saw was the rough skin of an elephant-like trunk pulling his struggling mentor upwards and into the dense vegetation.

**Author's Notes****: Special thanks to ktpoole891 of Live Journal, who suggested that the perfume have a flavor. Hope ya like what you inspired in Mr. Wonka's fevered imagination. I also borrowed from the detail talented and deliciously perverse 0oraeraeo0 of Live Journal for the caramel-weaving spiders. Their work can also be found on Deviant Art.**

**A quick tip of the hat to the play, ****Little Shop of Horrors**** which was the first bit of theater I ever saw. The man-eating plant is based on my beloved **_**Audrey II**_** : the big bad mama from outer space!**

'**Nonagarian' is a person in their nineties. Grandpa Joe says, in the film, that all combined the 4 Bucket grandparents are 381 years old! Do the math and you get an interesting set of numbers.**

**Mr. Wonka's reference to trying to use lollypops as scrying mirrors was in connection to a scene in Burton's movie where young Mr. Wonka is staring into the lollypops at his shop before Grandpa Joe disturbs him. If you would like to SEE what I imagined for the candymaker's library, please go to www(dot)deviantart(dot)com(backslash)deviation(backslash)47158704(slash). I know that's annoying to look at but Fanfiction Net doesn't let me put in web addresses so it's the best I can do. **

**I also appreciate those who have continued reading this long tale and I certainly hope to continue to keep it interesting until I sum things up. So many of you have been an inspiration. I know the story is better because of you all. Therefore, reviews from those who enjoy the tale are always welcome and appreciated: be they small like Charlie or large like Willy believes himself to be. **


	12. Volume 12 Warning!

**Title:** Is It Scary, volume XII

**By:** IDOL HANDS

**Rating:** X-rated

**Warnings:** For dramatic and adult themes, alternate Paganism, violence, religion, an _explicit_ under-aged/adult slash ("shota" or "chan") relationship.

**Disclaimer:** The characters portrayed are not my property but that of the estate of R. Dahl, Tim Burton, Freddie Highmore and Johnny Depp.

**Summary:** This story has been about questions that haunted my psyche after the film was over. You watch Burton's movie and it's obvious that the man i enjoyed /i seeing everything that happened to those families. Oh yes, it's in his eyes. So, I had to ask, how would such aspects affect our dear Charlie? If you thought he went too far in the last volume, then you should read _this_ one! smirks To those who do not understand the hunger for violence as they do the one for sex, I title this volume…

**"Oh yea of little faith"**

As fast as he could, the boy in the iridescent blue-green beetle armor had grabbed the helmets and sword. He madly dashed into the overgrowth after his hijacked mentor; heart pounding like a jackrabbit. Part of him wanted to give-up and run all the way back home, but he couldn't leave Mr. Wonka like that. No, he couldn't. No matter how frightened he was.

He fought leaves that were sharp as razor blades: a few of them managing to tear the cat-suit despite the fabric's resilience. Vines on the ground threatened to tangle around his feet and pull him down. The chocolatier had used a machete to cut through such thicket. The boy had neither the weapon nor the time for that. Finally he found the clearing where the large, circular footprints ended. He dared to look upward. The beast was about as awful as he imagined it; one giant trunk constricted around the uprooted chocolatier and one giant eyeball glaring far down at him. It stood as tall as a house with thick wrinkled skin the color of a stagnant pond. Dinosaur plates stuck out of its back and all down it's spiked tail. The child's eyes had gone extremely wide, glassy, and completely blue as he took in his challenge. There was little time for observance or thought – he had to react as he had seen his…this person he _loved_ do.

Grunts, groans and sounds of struggle could be heard from Wonka as he pushed against the constriction and kicked out his dangling legs.

Charlie reattached the spiked Prussian-styled helmet. No easy feat with his hands shaking as they were. Once it was in place, he clenched his teeth while the animal continued to stare. Strange, deep echoing noises were coming from its gaping tusked mouth. It felt as if time had slowed. The actions only took milliseconds but they could have been hours. Rapidly breathing, he put a vice on the sword handle and charged towards the monstrosity screaming.

"Uhn! Charlie, NO! NOO! You'll..ah…get hurt!!" Wonka had risen up a splayed hand in protest, his other one pinned underneath. The large leather bucket glove had been shaken free exposing his purple latex one underneath.

Wonka's warning was simultaneous with the boy's decision to act in the only way that had been demonstrated to him. The boy continued running until he reached the towering animal and slashed at the first part he reached - its left front leg. A loud sound of complaint followed the gash as the child swung quickly back to strike again. Wide-eyed and panting, he was shocked at his own actions. But what else could he do to prevent the candymaker from being squeezed to death or eaten alive or some other violent end? A second wound caused the animal to roughly throw down his mentor and rise up onto its hind legs.

**WhumMPF!**

The man's body made a louder sound than the boy would have wanted to hear. Next, the creature swung its tail furiously and released a deafening trumpet sound:

_BRROOOoooooOOOWEEeeooo!_

Charlie's attention was torn between watching the animal or running to Mr. Wonka's aid. His beloved mentor and hero had let out a noise upon hitting the ground but there hadn't been any movement. Tears streamed down the Bucket child's face as he clenched his teeth down again and glared at the mutant elephant. He bravely ran towards it again with an anguished cry; never had he allowed such strong emotion to escape him. His strength came from pooling all of his pain and sorrow together – everything he had ever repressed or ignored in order to please his family, in order not to upset things lest he make them worse than they were. It suddenly came bubbling up out of him. And now the woe about this gore-filled place and what just happened were added.

His screaming had far less volume than the trumpeting sound that the elephant had made, but it was no less meaningful. The Goliath ceased its billowing sounds and actually backed away from the frail child. The complaints quieter now:

_**AAaaaoorrru!**_ SNORT! _Huff!_

The sword cut through the air in sharp whipping sounds as Charlie's unskilled efforts threatened the retreating beast. A thin trail of blood marked its path as it continued to back-up releasing a mere:

_**Bbreeiit!**_

"Scared?! GOOD! Stay AWAY! Go away and NEVER come back! Y-you _horrible_ MONSTER!" The anguish was still in his voice, forcing it to crack at certain octaves. All he could think was that this animal could have harmed the most amazing person he had ever known. Tremendous worry and guilt were eating his soul. Mr. Wonka had tried to protect him, but he had lashed forward and those actions could have caused…could have caused…no, he'd be OK. He'd be all right and come to the rescue again. The child's chest heaved as he willed himself to believe that with all of his pounding heart.

The bulky animal stayed where it was, only using its long, sinuous trunk to brush over the damaged area.

The child jerked as something touched his shoulder from behind. Revolving around, sword pointed downward, he was rewarded with his greatest hope instead of another nightmarish Isle of Dr. Moreau creation: it was a slightly dirt-covered and bent over Willy Wonka with a goofy grin on his face and one hand clasped around his rib cage. A few gashes had removed bits of the suit and there were cracks in the purple-pink armor, but there wasn't any sign of blood.

"Hey killer, calm down, you've shown that snuffleupasaurus who's boss. Good thing this one was already pretty tame." His breathing was ragged, but he managed to create a quick, sharp whistle by placing two fingers into his mouth. The animal made low, echoing noises that indicated some sort of comprehension. It sat down on its hindquarters where it was.

"Y-you.._know_ this-this…_thing_?! I _hurt_ an _innocent_ animal?!" Suddenly the boy was grateful for only having had a nibble at breakfast. Any more food than that and he would have been sick on the spot. Currently his intestines were a bundle of knots. The humidity of the surroundings clung to him like cellophane.

"Innocent?" The man chuckled while trying to stand up-right, making distorted faces of discomfort, "I wouldn't give Spike here _that_ much credit. Besides, ya did a bang-up job of comin' tah my rescue. I'm totally impressed! You were _completely_ awesome!!"

It was wonderful to hear his mentor sound like himself again and in many other circumstances such compliments would have made the child's heart light up in ways that would make him feel like he could fly. Right now it had a far different reaction. He stared wordlessly at the man who was sending a thousand watt smile in his direction. Arms spread open as if he were about to receive a hug. Tears started to stream out of the little boy's eyes as he did walk toward the open arms, throwing the sword to the dirt ground…

Instead of a hug however, he began pounding the armor on the man's chest with the bottom of two small fists. Though the impact wasn't much, it caused Wonka to react with, "Oof! Oof!! Ow! Hey, quit it!"

The chocolatier finally gripped the boy's gloved wrists and stated in an exaggeratedly irritated tone. "OW! Uh, hello, wounded _victim_ here!"

The child immediately retorted with, "No you're not! You tricked me! You're playing games again and it's not funny! I thought you were really in danger and I thought that you could be dea—de—".

The next thing the boy did confused Willy Wonka even further. His heir had collapsed onto his plated chest and begun sobbing. The man was so _proud_ of the child's violent outburst! So, why was Charlie upset? And why was he laying on him after hitting him and yelling at him? Whatever was he supposed to do? Be angry? Be happy? _Comfort_ him? But for what? Everything was fine, going swimmingly actually.

The animal let out an inquisitive squeal from behind the two as Wonka had begun the lengthy process of sorting out his emotions. It had continued to sit in the bush, at the edge of the small clearing, awaiting further commands.

"Uh?" Charlie stopped lying against Willy and turned back toward the extraordinary pacaderm. More tears escaped his eyes as he spotted the bright slashes on its upper leg. He only approached the animal by a step, careful not to upset or panic the towering snuffleupasaurus. His voice sounded sincere and timid, "I'm sorry I hurt you. Please forgive me. I didn't _know_…oh, you can't understand."

A vibrating moan was emitted in response.

Willy glared at the animal and shouted, "Oh, quit complainin'! He barely scratched ya fer Pete's sake!"

How dare the creature take the boy's precious attention away from himself!

"Charlie?" A calm, pleading tone was in the man's voice when he addressed his pupil immediately after.

The boy kept his back to him. Head and shoulders bent over he sullenly stated, "I want to _leave_ this awful place. I want to leave right now and _never_ come back."

A cold shock ran through the candymaker.

The boy didn't hear him speak another word. He reluctantly turned around after a few seconds of silence, not particularly in the mood to deal with one of his frequent 'flashbacks'. However, what he did see immediately changed his mood: torn garment, missing glove, frazzled hair, smudged with animal blood and dirt from the ground, Wonka looked completely defeated. Throw in a couple of windmills behind him and there would've been a great likeness to the self-portrait that hung in The Forbidden Room. There was a saddened look on his face and bleak emptiness in his eyes, nary a sparkle to be seen. However, it wasn't his eyes that changed how Charlie felt about the moment…it was the wetness falling _from_ them. While he watched, another tear streamed down the man's face.

Wonka uttered, "I wish Spike _had_ killed me. It couldn't hurt more than this."

The boy's hands had found a way up to his mouth by themselves. He had no idea what to say. His emotions were a mess. One moment he was on a violent wild goose chase for mysterious ingredients, then he was nearly ready to let the man do anything he wanted to him in the middle of a jungle, next he found himself doing something that went against everything he thought he ever believed in, and now the person who caused all of the madness was falling to pieces before his eyes!

"You don't hafta say anything…" Willy tilted his head and his eyes to the side. The bright bottom lip quivered. Slowly he took a breath and walked over to the sword. He picked it up and examined it in a way that Charlie didn't like.

"Mr. Wonka! No! Don't!" The gentle British voice announced. The noise of feet patting firmly on the foliage-covered floor came racing toward him.

"Don't _wut_?" He said accusatorily and spun around. "Don't eviscerate myself like you just did?"

His eyes and face were full of foreboding as he swung up the blade and in a blinding speed, slashed it across his midriff and left arm right in front of his heir. Charlie screamed again and squeezed his eyes shut. His hands were slapped on top of them. "AAAHHHHHH!"

There were only the unceasing foreign noises of the tropical landscape for a few seconds while Charlie's body shook with fear. There weren't any immediate sounds to indicate the awful scene he imagined had taken place: no noises that would keep him from ever sleeping again. Only one minoot shifting of air reached his panicked ears. The child forced himself to peek the smallest sliver of a glimpse. He saw a perfectly unscathed, pale midriff exposed, very slightly muscled, with a deep bellybutton and the beginning of one hipbone. The sound was of Mr. Wonka's sword being replaced into its sheath. The boy opened his eyes the entire way, arms still near his face in case he would need them again.

Wonka started to speak when his heir looked at his face again. "The sword can't cut me. Guess I was _playin' games_ with ya again, huh? Or maybe I was just wishin' it would today. These aren't games little boy. They're me, tryin' tah help _you_, understand what the world is REALLY about. I had to learn _all_ this..." He gestured toward the expanse of the room. "By _myself_. NO ONE taught me how to survive. NO ONE protected me…no one. And I wasn't in any 'controlled' environment either."

His eyes squinted as he pointed at the boy, "SO, Ya wanna make _me_ the 'villian' in alla this? Fine, if it makes ya feel better, but I _know_ some part of you _liked_ it. I felt it on my lips and I heard it in my ears. You wanna pretend it's not there? Then yer _never_ gonna understand me or my factory."

"So leave! Go 'head! Pack up all yer things and break yer promise and pretend you didn't say that you…you…lo-loved me." Wonka's emotions dramatically altered his expression and voice. The irate instructor was transformed into an abandoned child. Tears had started to fall from his eyes once more. By the time the chocolatier completed the entire statement, a quiet sobbing noise hiccupped out of him. He placed the back of his hand over his mouth and turned away from shame.

There were times when Mr. Wonka didn't seem human, when he appeared completely invulnerable or like a character from some amorphous storybook, but Charlie could see that he was real and that he did have a heart. Could the mere _idea_ of loosing his company really expose such a gaping hole inside the matrix of his idol's soul? He pondered Wonka's stern lecture and remembered his mother had taught him that _anger_ often masks _pain_. Perhaps it was idealistic to think the eccentric chocolatier could accomplish so many marvelous things without causing damage to something. 'Sacrifices' as the man called it. He hadn't meant to be so naïve.

"Mr. Wonka," He started quietly, approaching closer by only one metaphorical step, as he would a wild animal, "you don't understand. I only wanted to leave this _room_, not the entire _factory_. I don't break my promises and I'm not going to leave you. Since I've met you I've had the most astonishing and fantastic experiences of my life." Wonka's glossy eyes examined the child from over his shoulder. He was in a posture of hugging himself.

As the man uncurled and carefully turned to face Charlie again, emotionally gifted youth that he was continued, "I've learned SO much, but no, I guess that I don't understand _all_ of you. I'm trying. I want to, but…there's _so much_ to you. Remember wot you said about feeling like a lab rat at my house this morning? Well, I feel like that too, like this teensy little mouse trying to run through a giant maze for bits of chocolate and candy."

The boy made scurrying movements with his hands, exposed his upper teeth, and twitched his scooped nose to illustrate the point.

Wonka's head was pivoted slightly downward to look at the boy, arms draped at his side. He simply stood unblinking at his heir, taking in everything that the boy was saying. A pure lavender color had returned to his eyes and made Charlie's mind recall those of the unicorn's in his waking dream. That thought brightened up his spirit and he continued, "I keep going through this maze because I want the 'candy' that's wearing a top hat and wrapped in velvet at the end. The 'treat' that thought everything up in the first place. This Secret Ingredients Room…I guess some part of me _did_ like it…sort of, but I don't understand why."

Clutching at his own hands, he paused and looked off to the side with a worried expression. "I don't want to be a bad person, sir."

The man stepped right up to him and touched his cheek. It was still not as plump as other children's. The result of years of starvation couldn't wear off in a few weeks. "Yer not. Yer not a bad person, Charlie."

His voice was more relaxed and natural than usual. Charlie couldn't help but feel like there was more to the statement than Mr. Wonka was saying. He had emphasized the _"Yer"_ and it seemed that there was an _I'm_ implied. Since he had not spoken it, the boy assumed it was a negative reference to himself that he was withholding. The boy wrapped his arms around his mentor. Pressing his chin against the place where it rested at his mid-chest, he kept looking up into his eyes, less afraid of everything that was in them now, "You're not a bad person either, Mr. Wonka. You just don't want to hurt anymore and you don't want anything to hurt me either."

"_Yes_." Came the strained response: complete and whole. Not "Yeah" or "Yup" or "Uh-huh". Two strong arms returned the child's embrace. For a peaceful moment, they stood content in the middle of Willy Wonka's self-created nightmare. Until…

_**Bbreeiit!**_

The sudden sound from the Snuffleupasaurus startled them both. Their eyes widened as they squeezed each other tighter. Wonka's features quickly changed to comic annoyance. "Told ya he was fine. Look, those _cat-scratches_ have started tah heal already."

Willy gently turned the child to face the behemoth. "See, they have super healing powers for dealing with hornswaggler horns, whangdoodle stings, snozzwhanger claws, and just about anything else you can throw at them!"

Arm around his shoulders, he encouraged the child to accompany him back to the great beast, "Which means they scare the heck outta everything and therefore make perfect animals to ride through the jungle on _if_ you can tame them."

Mr. Wonka placed his fingers into his mouth again and whistled slightly differently than before. The animal huffed and responded by lowering itself all the way to the ground. Seeing his mentor command such a large, intimidating animal did stir something in the boy. He grinned at him with the smallest glint in his eyes. The beast inside of _the man_ could be intimidating but what a force it must be to accomplish something like this!

"Spike here is the 'Alpha' male. Know what that means?" Wonka had switched back into his instructor role.

Charlie shook his head.

"It means _he's_ boss. He's the lead male of the herd. So, if he listens to me than all the other snuffleupasauruses do too. Believe me, that was _not_ easy and, as you can tell, he still roughhouses too much." Willy wiggled his finger in disapproval at the animal.

"Spike, this is Char-_Leee_. Charlie, FRIEND." He took his hand and placed it over his heir's bringing it to touch the animal's ear.

Then Mr. Wonka focused a very stern look into the animal's massive eye. "If you hurt one little hair on his head, I'll make ya into the world's largest _stew_."

He paused, "Huh. Come tah think of it, he might beat me too it!"

The last comment came out with great glee, but Charlie still felt guilty. He gently stroked the animal's floppy ear. He could feel through the glove that the texture was far softer than he thought it would be. "No, that's _not_ true Spike. Now that we're friends I promise _never_ to hurt you on purpose."

Wonka was surprised at the very different tone his charming little companion had taken with the immense animal. The boy and the chocolate maker made an interesting duo in their contrasts. Willy had always thought that he'd want a child that was as much like himself as possible. Wouldn't that be easiest? However, he came to realize that such a child would be impossible to train. He or she certainly couldn't be told what _not_ to do. It was why he thought Veruca or Mike had a chance at first, then Veruca couldn't take one "no" about the squirrels and the TeeVee kid wouldn't even give him a slap on the hand. When it came down to that last golden ticket, Mr. Wonka had wished for a 'perfect' child to help him run the factory and he had a way of making his wishes come true. Didn't he deserve _perfection_? It was exactly what he demanded from his products. Yet, there were times when he got so nervous, even insecure, about what was different between him and Charlie. So, why was he finding himself _liking_ their differences so much lately? Hey, he realized, that musta have been why Madame Rose said this person was perfect _for him_, not identical or equal, simply well-matched; the yin to his yang, as the Asian culture would say. This child offered _far_ more 'perks' than the mere contact of a high-five anyway.

Charlie stayed with his new friend while Willy collected all of the packs left by the tum-tum tree. He had replaced the regal helmet onto his head, even though he was pretty sure that he wouldn't need it again. Arriving at the draping branches of the tree, the man was pleased to see that he was wrong. A snozzwhanger was picking at the carcass of one of the hornswagglers when he arrived; the feathers shown in the light with vivid, peacock hues. Only a _winged_ creature would dare to come within a hundred foot radius of a trumpeting snuffleupasaurus! He had done a good job breeding those vegetarian creatures to keep a balance in his absences. For all of the native creatures of Loompa-land were truly horrible. When they couldn't eat Oompa-Loompas, they resorted to eating each other!

The bird was pulling flesh from the first horned creature that he had killed. He had done the old, weak hornswaggler a favor by killing it swiftly. Otherwise it was doomed to be shredded apart by its own family when it was least expecting it. Mmn. Yeah, _that_ part of their nature was particularly revolting to him he thought. His attention went back to the completely distracted vulture as it tore another long sinew off the dead body and choked it down.

A great smirk formed onto his face as his eyebrows lowered. What if his boy wanted a few more top hats? For this was the exact sort of feather that adorned the one he had given him yesterday. They were mean, man-sized creatures, but they had mighty pretty plumage. Stealthily, he withdrew the long sword again. It felt ever so slightly different to him, for he could sense Charlie's energy in there. However, it was the most rare form of his energy…anger – as pure as the rest of him. Mr. Wonka did not use a different word to describe sentimental value; he meant what he had said about energies of people being captured in the magical instruments.

The exotic winged creature had caught sight of him while he savored the new sensation mingling with his own. It let out a loud:

**Cra-CAW! Caw!**

The chocolatier frowned in annoyance as the cumbersome bird flew far up into the treetops. Another day perhaps, he thought. Fate had served him well lately, so he wouldn't get too upset. Instead he made his way to the dead animals. He noted that he had killed a total of six. That was the exact same number of people in Charlie's family excluding the kid. All of the snozzwhangers had been feasting upon the fruits of his labor. All of them had been brought here by himself and all of them were a threat to his heir while they still breathed. He snickered at his own dark thoughts. No, he told himself, he didn't hate the whole family _that_ much. Still, it was an interesting coincidence. And with that he slit their bellies open, interested as to what was inside.

Modern Pagans would have highly objected to his actions. They called themselves Wiccan and believed in doing nothing that harmed others – so called, "white magicians". That was all fine and good for them, but Willy had a rather different and much older set of beliefs. Concepts good enough for people back in the days of Ramses and Julius Caesar. In days gone by, people referred to the katana blade as "the life-giving sword"; for by killing others they saved the innocent in Japan. Point of fact, the Old Testament of the Christian religion suggested a far less forgiving God. Ah, _"But who are you to play God?" _- some would argue.

Why, he was Willy Wonka of course!

The same man who used a taffy puller to stretch out a shrunken little boy and had seen to it that a bloated little girl had all of the blueberry juice _squeezed_ out of her. He could do things that others could not by simply believing that they could be so. At some point tonight, perhaps he would treat himself to another glass from the vat of curious blue liquid that was squeezed out of Violet. It had a most intriguing flavor though he doubted most anyone else would enjoy it as he did.

Leaning over their slimy and oddly colored entrails he smiled at the things he 'read' in them. Short work was made out of the bodies; with fast, practiced movements and removed specific parts of the beasts. The parts were then placed into a black sack (the others being khaki in color); one that he would not share with Charlie in his current over-worked state of nerves. Thinning the herd once in a while actually was a good idea. Aside from each other, nothing else was going to. So what if it also gave him a little sport and a much-needed rush? And then there was that launch into outer space to consider. Practice was needed for that as well. He had fears even greater than that though, _everyday_ reasons for preparing the child against devilish threats.

When the man returned to the clearing with all of their treasures, he found Charlie riding on the towering animal. A narrow bridge at the back of the neck was the only place that the dinosaur-sized mammals didn't have sharp plates sticking out of their spine. The boy looked happy as a clam and was waving triumphantly, so obviously he was not treated badly in the process of getting up there. The man also noticed that the slash mark were completely gone. Wonka whistled through his fingers once more. Spike immediately reacted and clumsily lifted his master, plopping him behind Charlie.

"Oof! Watch it!" Exclaimed Wonka as he fixed the angle of the helmet that had been thrown out of wack in the process. The creature got rougher with Willy than he had been with his new acquaintance. Still, the chocolatier _was_ in one of his favorite positions…

Charlie felt arms slide around his waist and a chin rest on the cradle of his neck. Next he felt the bridge of the man's nose nuzzling at the edge of his jawline as long legs came to rest directly behind his spread out ones. The animal already knew the way, so Wonka didn't need to guide him much back to the tree house, only the occasional tap of his boot or tug on a spike was needed. The two stayed rather quiet through their bumpy ride contemplating the day's events and the other's words throughout it. Wonka was content to hold Charlie as close to himself as he could. The words weren't spoken, but they were in his embrace and cuddling, "Please don't ever leave me."

Less accustomed to the built-in seat of bone and not wanting to fall off the beast, Charlie's smaller set of hands gripped on tight to the knobbed growths before him. So, while the boy did not return the loving gestures, he also did not complain. He was getting a little flustered from the trip though. Spread-legged as the boy was across the massive neck, an interesting sensation did occur from _behind_ when they had a rough jostle. Wonka's codpiece was hard and well molded. The cool metal laying upon the sides of his face from the helmet kept reminding him of the man's physical touch, which he had so very much enjoyed.

The animal was rewarded with a sampling of the treats when they arrived at the treehouse. All of which he gobbled down immediately. Spike sort of patted Charlie with his trunk and kneeled down briefly in front of Willy before returning to the depth of the jungle with one last billowing call. Underneath all of the horsing around, the animal did have a respect for his master.

Still reserving their voices, the pair looked at each other face to face again. Wonka looked away and removed a device from his backpack. A shot sounded as his grappling hook traveled way up into a specifically designed hole on the balcony. The sound of it locking into place echoed downward. With a hard pull, the chocolatier confirmed it was properly attached before putting out one arm. Charlie went forward and allowed him to put the arm around his waist again while the child put both arms around the man's neck for grip. Connected by a device at the waist, it was a simple matter now for Willy to be pulled up by the mechanism's pully.

Once inside, the rest of the special items were put into sleek cube-shaped coolers. The man was careful to put the contents of the _black_ bag away while his heir was distracted in his efforts of removing the strapped armor plates. Eventually Wonka walked over to where the boy was standing and sat down on the spacious window seat. He simply looked at Charlie. That was all it took for the child to give up with a sigh and allow the candyman to undo the devices for him. It had looked so simple when he watched Mr. Wonka do it. Bing, bang, done in a matter of seconds. Yet here he was struggling for almost ten minutes!

Willy secretly enjoyed the frustrated pout on his heir's face at his quickness to undo all of the fastening devices that were outwitting the lad. He wasn't sure what to say at the moment. It seemed like everything that needed to be said had already done so. Therefore, silence was the obvious choice. It was the first time in a great while that he had deliberately been quiet with someone other than an Oompa-Loompa. He did tend to chatter when he was nervous and he did tend to be nervous a lot. Mmn, there was an unpleasant memory connected to that thought – many years ago when some men, whom he thought were friends, saw fit to humiliate him for his awkward tendencies. Since then they've been mortal enemies. Three against one wasn't very fair, but he was still head and shoulders AND a _massive_ chocolate factory above them.

The far-away gaze and 'bad trip' were interrupted by something quite wonderful, the turning of the figure in his arms to meet his lips with one of those delicate kisses again. It felt like a sort of forgiveness or acceptance. The man's grip on his heir's body tightened for a fraction of a second then loosened. No, no, he must be gentle. He would have to keep the monster in its cage…for now. Although, he could of sworn that he saw _something_ when the boy was chained to his bed. Perhaps there would be an opportunity to try more of that some other time. Apparently, Charlie was more of a lover than a fighter. It seemed he preferred to be the one 'hunted'.

Arms going around his shoulders were followed by another moist, soft kiss pushing harder against his mouth this time and rewarding the candymaker's restraint. Wonka considered his situation and began to lay back, one arm ever so gently encouraging the smaller form to follow, fingers appreciating the indent of his spine. The airy weight of the Bucket child came to rest on top of him, one narrow leg between his own. The window seat was about the size of a twin bed. The cushion under them was thin, but it would still serve nicely.

The boy's kiss never really broke off, it merely turned into a succession of smaller maneuvers, releasing only for a breath or to twist into another position. He continued to let the boy take the lead even though the collection of soft, silky touches was driving him wild. As a distraction and a way to enjoy the sensuality of the moment further, he reached behind the boy's back and pulled off the glove of his left hand. The dissected gold ring with the ruby heart and silver-cupped hands became exposed. Charlie continued his kiss while the pale, bare hand indulged in the fineness of the boy's chestnut colored hair. Wonka could discern every single fragile strand that brushed his skin. He honestly didn't mind the tactile reactions of coming into contact with his heir, but anyone else would probably overwhelm his overly perceptive senses.

The first time the smaller lips parted enough to make a subdued moan; the man took the opportunity to lick at the uneven architecture of teeth inside to see if he'd be permitted to enter. He was. A louder, more musical moan of his own followed after that for Charlie was doing something very curious – he was sort of _sucking_ on his _tongue_. It was an incredibly erotic sensation. Even so, he couldn't resist teasingly trying to tug it away from the child to see what he would do. It amused him that it took a bit of effort to accomplish that.

What the boy did in reaction was to first emit the cutest annoyed moan and second to purposely suck back down to retrieve the large flexible muscle back into his little mouth. It was the flavor inside of the man that made him do it: that sort of ambrosia or syrupy sweetness. Their mouths were as passionately locked together as their bodies. A moment later of these new actions and his heir's inserted leg became aware of how appreciated they were. The stretch suits _were_ thin and now slashes of skin showed through in various places on both. In Willy's case the split at his midsection made it possible for the child to feel the muscles of his abdomen against his more modest hardness.

Continuing to kiss and twist against each other, the firmness of Wonka's stomach and the bumps of the subtle washboard structure were making the child want to rub against his benefactor. Uncertain if this was permitted or polite, he was only pressing down occasionally, usually when he decided to part their lips for air. Then he felt hands slide down the sides of his compact form, trailing the subtle curves of his body, followed by a firm grip on his rear. The squeezing of the hands encouraged him to continue; to go faster and push down harder. The boy finally released them from their tongue play in order to emit the endearing sounds of his pleasure, panting in between:

"ah! uh!"

It was a marvelous sensation to personally experience the child's sexual discoveries: moments that would never reproduce themselves and therefore stay his and his alone forever. Charlie's torso was propped up by his hands while his lower body pushed down, back and forth; eyes squeezed firmly shut. Wonka began nipping at his neck where one of the razor leaves had cut the turtleneck open. He found a small wound inside and used the very tip of his now unoccupied tongue to moisten the blood. The coppery taste of that excited him significantly while his hands were running down and kneading the boy's cheeks, feeling the motion of his muscles. One hand clamped down hard through the fabric, fingers daring to press down in-between. A louder cry was sounded:

"AH!"

Two of the fingers pushed in as far into a particularly sensitive spot as they could as the motions sped up. Seconds later there was a warmth and a softness where the child had been rocking himself. Wonka watched as the boy's face went from concentration, to ecstasy, to peace. Although his mouth was gaped open, the orgasm was silent this time, and from the looks of it - powerful. The boy gently collapsed back down; his warm face and breath resting near his mentor's ear while his entire body pounded with a steady beat. Again, the chocolatier stayed tender, only smiling casually and brushing his hands over the heaving body as his heir recovered.

The man was again rewarded for his restraint when he felt a nervous hand begin to explore the stiffness of his reaction to the entire scenario. The boy had lifted himself up again slightly to look where he was touching. Verbal cues told him that this was a satisfactory thing to do:

"Mmmnnnn…"

The boy was glad because he really didn't want to stop molding his fingers around its shape. Slowly he went lower downward as he got braver. He briefly and gently cupped his hand underneath before trailing back upward. A few heaved breathes with a whimper led to something that made the child pause along the way. He had literally felt the member grow in his grasp. The boy spoke for the first time in a while in order to say:

"You're so…big."

Wonka took a deep breath and reminded himself why he wasn't going to rip the clothes off of the innocent waif at this very moment…twice. Although he _couldn't_ stop himself from whispering back in a slightly deeper voice:

"Oh, I can get bigger than that."

The boy looked back into his eyes with a needy sounding whisper, "I want to make you feel good the way you did for me last time. Can I?"

Small probing fingers were placing themselves down the large tear, and under the waistband of the supportive undergarment. They dared to touch the very tip of what they found pressed up against the flat stomach. Lust getting the better of him, old habits returned and Wonka quickly held the boy's hand in place, allowing it to go no further. He leaned upward to be face to face with Charlie again.

"Say, _may_ I?" He insisted with a huff of breath.

Charlie was close enough to smell the sugar of his mentor's voice. He was staring at that stained, well-shaped mouth. Going along with the game, he repeated in the same pleading tone, "_May_ I?"

A glint appeared in his eyes. "Ok, but let's make it more interesting."

The statement was followed by completely removing a torn piece of cloth from his already damaged outfit. This was done with a rapid and forceful movement, the nearby athame used to accomplish the task. The child's body had stayed frozen in the erotic position while the man tied the strip of fabric around his eyes. "I told ya that sometimes I wear a blindfold to enhance my focus. Howzabout you try it?"

The boy noticed that without the vision of the treehouse or the exotic canopy through the window, the only thing that he was thinking about was what he was holding in his right hand. The distinct shape of the head and shaft became immediately apparent to his imagination as he slid his hand down further. An excited and slightly embarrassed giggle was met by a more throaty one from the person responsible for the discovery.

However, his laugh was cut short as there was no way to imagine how amazing it would feel when Charlie had to use his _entire_ hand to wrap around himself. Another one of his wavering, imploring whimpers followed:

"Hhuuarmnnn….."

Fingertips tickled up and down as they struggled to figure out where to position themselves. Mr. Wonka reached his own hand down; covering the boy's to guide him in the new motions. Encouraging him to stroke up and then down. Through labored breath he said, "Remember…the rhythm…the…Ughhn!"

As usual, the child was a marvelously quick study (of course he had gotten a bit of practice recently). There was a beat coming from the very object that he was caressing. Candidly, the child began to comment on the sensations that his brain was able to so keenly focus on with his lack of vision. "The skin is so soft, but you feel _soo hard_.

If the boy kept talking like that he was going to loose control sooner than he wanted to. He reflexively put a hand over the boy's mouth. Still using the other one to prop himself slightly upward. Panting, he said, "No…talking…hmmm…"

They reverted to their earlier silence, looking for physical signals in order to know how to react to each other. The boy began lengthening his strokes, moving further down his shaft. Two of Willy's rubber-covered fingers found their way into the boy's mouth during the process. The boy instinctively sucked on them as he had on the long tongue. That action fulfilled the promise of "getting bigger" only now it was straining directly into his heir's bare hand. When the slim fingers found their way to the top again there was a slippery wetness. His mouth and tongue reacted to the gloved fingers, as he would have liked to done to that which he found there.

As the lips sucked further down his fingers and the tongue pressed against his fingertips, Willy opened one eye to examine the blindfolded child. This was a lot better than watching him eat a hot dog. He was warned against this fantasy, but there wasn't anyone around to stop him at the moment, was there? He toyed with pulling his fingers in and out of the eager mouth before completely removing the long, wet digits. Lids heavy with need, he whispered into the ear of the perplexed face, "Wanna do that…down there?"

That was all the encouragement the boy needed. He was slightly anxious, but the blackness of his vision allowed a certain anonymity and mystery that relaxed his nerves. Also, he was really curious to try! Without words he traced his other hand and his head toward the adult's pelvis, pulling the torn fabric down further. Only a very fine line of hair led him past the navel like a silky roadmap. Heavy breathes accompanied the next words spoken, turning himself on a bit as the chocolatier stated, "Remember that Mr. Wonka is…a very sensitive person and that…that is the most _sensitive_ part of his body…you are about to put into…yer mouth."

Charlie tilted his head and paused at that. Not because he spoke in the third person, but because that was quite true. Prone before his covered eyes and mouth he decided to treat this special body part with the same love that he felt for the rest of him.

The man couldn't believe the next sensation that accompanied his visual feast; it was the sight and feeling of being kissed as passionately and delicately as his mouth had been earlier. A quick stroking lick was followed by another soft, lingering kiss. Along with a highly pitched sound of:

"Augh!"

Had the boy not known better, he might've mistaken it for a sound of pain. A strange feeling of power trickled into his mind. Any pleasure the man was feeling was a result of _his_ actions. Each sound was like a reward for his cleverness. After that last noise, he felt it would be all right to proceed further. He used the tip of his tongue to guide him up to the top of the rod and put his mouth around the very end. Something like a gasping hiccup acknowledged the motion.

Every sensation was magnified for Willy Wonka. It felt like fireworks were going off inside of his body and as the tight mouth closed down over him it was like his mind was sent down into a far-away abyss of pleasure.

A unique sweet and salty flavor had encountered the boy's tongue. He liked it and wanted more. A louder squeak was voiced when one of the boy's hands wrapped around the base and another lower still while squeezing. Charlie was trying to mimic the motions that he had been doing to his mentor with his hand, but the object had gotten longer and wider so he was making up the difference with his hands. However, he was determined to try and get more into himself. He really did want to accept _all_ of Mr. Wonka and _this_ was how he was going to show it.

Pressure upon the back of his head pushed him to accomplish the task. Each time the boy rose up, he slid down a little further. The pleasently tormented noises had turned to growls that vibrated low and through the man's body into the child's mouth. Charlie hummed back in response as the last inch slid to the back of his throat.

Willy was certain that he had discovered new stars and planets – at least he thought that's what all those flashing lights inside of his head might be. He felt the boy's throat constrict as his gag reflexes kicked in. He couldn't help feeling turned on by the reaction to his size or how the constriction felt in that second.

The boy didn't bite or give-up despite his throat tightening a second time, he had great practice with being uncomfortable and adjusting to new challenges. This was no different. Once accustomed to the sensation, he simply sped up the process, sliding quickly up and down again with the pace of the man under him.

A third purposeful constriction and Wonka knew he couldn't hold out any longer, one hand had dug down deep into the cushion while another tried to lift the boy's head up. "Mmmnn…shooouuldn't…."

He simply wasn't going to be able to say anything comprehensible at this point.

Charlie couldn't figure out why he was being pushed up at the same time that the man was thrusting into him. It was like he couldn't make up his mind. Well, he _could_, he wanted to get the _full_ taste of his mentor's release. Fair was fair! A firm squeeze of his fist kept him attached and he got his desire. The warm liquid was thicker than his own and the sensation of tiny crystals of sugar dissolving on his tongue quickly made up for any salty or bitter qualities in the rest of the fluid. He swallowed all of it instantly. He heard Wonka exclaim in an exaggerated way, "WOW!"

A second dose led to Charlie getting an ethereal tingling sensation throughout his body. It winded through him like electricity and caused him to climax a second time.

The man was using one hand to grip a fistful of his own hair at the same time that he was gripping the boy's. Nothing had prepared him for the feelings of these sensations! He could barely have a conscious thought that didn't involve giving in to the forceful, urgent pulsing between his legs. However, before he convulsed again, he managed to grip his child lover by the material on his back and forcibly pulled him off.

Charlie had no choice but to obey and be held away from receiving another chance to swallow. However, he could hear sounds of his mentor moaning. While he could not lower himself back down, he could use his free arms to pull up the blindfold and see what he was missing. Seeing Mr. Wonka's body arched in pleasure, teeth clenched, face in bliss while he pleased himself was a sight that would stay burned into the young boy's mind. So was the sensation of being splattered with some of the powerful result. Flicking out his tongue, he was able to get a taste off his own face and receive another tingle – mild this time, but nonetheless intriguing. It felt as if he was sparkling like champagne. His far-away gaze trailed back to Willy panting with a satisfied groan.

The boy giggled and a pair of deep purple eyes flicked open.

"You peeked!" Wonka said in shock as he quickly slid himself back into the garment. He continued to hold Charlie by the scruff of his neck like a kitten.

"You didn't say I couldn't." He said wide-eyed. The boy was right, he hadn't 'forbidden' such action only prevented it.

Charlie was thrilled for lots of reasons right now, but most of all because Mr. Wonka was the one blushing for once! Of course his cheeks were this lovely petal color as opposed to his own bright one but still! Mr. Wonka was blushing and he wasn't! A small triumph!

"I can't believe you watched me DO that!" The eyes flicked away, then widened recalling something that they had just seen. The man's eyes immediately looked back. He wasn't sure if he was horrified or aroused by the white stripe running up the boy's form.

"Why? You looked when _I_ did it. And besides you looked…um…" His mind recalled the image vividly, "you looked like a work of art."

Wonka was completely flattered by that description; the worry and tenseness of his muscles relaxed. He pressed one hand to his chest and pulled Charlie back towards himself as he licked off the offending remains. His heir found that he didn't mind being bathed in such a fashion at all. As soon as he was completely released, he immediately snuggled his mentor. A wonderful spacey, weightless feeling put a wide smile onto his cherub face. He repeated the man's words from their intimacy yesterday, "I feel really close to you now."

Willy cleared his throat, "Yes, well." He giggled. "You _should_. No one has been that 'close' to me ever."

"Mmmn." The boy sighed against him. A cloud of musky chocolate scent enshrouded them. He looked up at him, "Why did you make me stop. I didn't want to. You weren't hurting me."

Yes, hurting the lad _should_ have been on his mind but it wasn't his reasoning for the abrupt interruption. He looked into his heir's eyes, "So, you're OK? You don't feel different or…strange?"

"No, I feel wonderful…" He said dreamily, "I feel more wonderful than I've ever felt in my entire life. You're the best kept secret in this whole place." He paused before saying with a smidge more energy, "Can't we do it again sometime?"

Wonka was stunned; unfathomably grateful, mildly concerned, and..and absolutely stunned! A goofy laugh came out of him followed by a flutey, "We'll see."

"Mmmnn…" The boy snuggled into his frame more lovingly. "I _promise_ to be a good little boy."

No, really, he should be thanking some God right now – he was sure of it. Willy tilted his head and flashed one of his trademark smiles toward the boy, "Mr. Wonka might like it if you were _bad_ little boy sometimes too."

A tired, muffled laugh came from under his arm. "You're silly."

**Authors Notes****: Ah, make-up sex is a wonderful thing. I think I'll end it here, since if I was you, I don't think I'd be reading any further or worrying about plot much at this point. So go ahead, scoot! Scoot! Off to whatever I've "inspired" this time. **

**I have literally exhausted myself writing this thing in my free time. It is both the quality of the writing and the plot that have taken so much effort. To those of you who have stayed true, my undying gratitude for giving me an excuse to continue. Your words often provoke the characters to speak so that I get a clearer or even better ideas for how to make things happen that I forsee in my "crystal ball". Also, your gratitude makes it worth the eternal damnation that I am certain to suffer. runs and hides **

**A sketch created by Loonylucifer of Willy fighting in the jungle can be found here on Deviant Art: www(dot)deviantart(dot)com(backslash)deviation(backslash)47246391(backslash)**


	13. Volume 13

**Title:** Is It Scary, volume XIII

**By:** IDOL HANDS

**Rating:** Mature Demented Audiences

**Warnings:** For dramatic and adult themes, alternate Paganism, sex magick, bondage undertones, violence, an under-aged/adult slash ("shota" or "chan") relationship and a bit of spanking! Hot, fresh fan service coming right up.

**Disclaimer:** The characters portrayed are not my property but that of the estate of R. Dahl, Tim Burton, Freddie Highmore and Johnny Depp. I am merely their (pimp) slave.

**Summary:** Afterglow and because he can't do anything like a normal person, I present to you the ubiquitous shower scene…Wonka style. There are further developments within the factory, four little surprises await Charlie when he sees Madame Rose, and we'll check on how Mr. Bucket has been getting along. Perhaps he will get a surprise of his very own!

"**I love my love with an H"**

A floating feeling of euphoria spread through the two forms as they basked in the scents of heat, jungle, dirt and each other: the most overpowering scent being the one of musk and chocolate. There were only a few feet of room on the window seat so the boy's smaller frame was half laid on top of Wonka's in order for them to fit together. Their minds, as well as their bodies, soared far above the canopy inside the multi-layered tree house.

The last golden ticket winner felt that he could have clung to the older man until the very end of time. Through the thin, skin-tight black body stockings he could feel every muscle and skeletal protrusion against his own. The taught stomach and navel were still completely exposed and Charlie made sure to keep one bare hand laid upon it, the very tops of his fingers under the lowest part of the rip. In his mind, he could nearly imagine what his demanding educator would look like _completely_ in the buff; at least he still had those few quick flashes to call upon when he removed that makeshift blindfold (which was currently being worn as a bandana). Another 'aftershock' of the tingling sensation tickled inside his stomach. He wasn't sure if it was from the butterflies of his affection or from the creamy, sweet fluid that he had swallowed a moment ago. Either way, from the top of his head to the bottom of his toes, he simply felt good; like on the coveted days of his birthday when he was given his annual candy bar. It never mattered what flavor, as long as the rich chocolate was named after the man lying against him.

Anything really was possible.

There was magic.

Another moment passed before the quirky voice vibrated inside the boy's ear pressed to the muscular, slim chest.

"So, ah, do ya still want tah go home?" Wonka's arm was still wrapped around his young, appreciative heir. There was this amazing peace inside of the chocolatier. He couldn't remember the last time he had felt this way…perhaps that was because he never had.

"Huh?" At this point, Charlie had no idea what his mentor was making reference to. The fit of hysteria had completely vanished. The youth groggily looked up at the ivory skinned face that was angled toward him, sculpted cheekbones and an angular jaw shown to their finest. The light coming in through the large window pulled out all of the auburn highlights within Willy's brown hair. The overall shade of it was identical to his milk cocoa candies. Unlike their usual meticulous tidiness, the fire-like strands of the bob stuck out in various angles from all of the excitement of the day's activities.

"At the very least, you must be starvin'. Ya barely ate breakfast and it's way past lunchtime." He spoke slightly above a whisper, though each word was carefully enunciated.

"Mmnn…really?" Lazily the boy reached up and began straightening the sloppy hair starting with the extremely short, choppy bangs; tweaking them back into their uniform downward spikes.

Wonka's eyes followed the gestures of the small hand, making him go slightly cross-eyed in the process. In a barely suggestive tone, the child's English-accented voice added, "Thas' funny 'cause I'm not all that hungry."

The purple eyes returned to forward and widened a bit followed by the wavering of a nervous chuckle. The boy gave his own giggle back in response and Wonka swore it sounded like the echoing of a thousand tiny silver bells. Was this all a dream? Some perverted fantasy that his mind had finally run mad with? Was he going to wake up any minute now and find himself horribly alone for the four billionth time? Oh please let this be real. Please let him have found someone who he finally felt comfortable with. Someone gentle who knew the darker things that lived inside his soul and wouldn't run away. _Please?_

Charlie was puzzled as to why Mr. Wonka had suddenly squeezed his eyes so tightly shut and kept them like that. "Wot's the matter? Are you still embarrassed? You shouldn't be, you taste absolutely amazing, all of you. I wish _I_ did."

The lavender optics were exposed again and zeroed in on Charlie in a mechanical way. This simple person could say the most remarkable, honest things. Only someone so completely untainted could accept him the way he was. The child's deep sigh felt like a balloon releasing all of its air against the man's body, assuring him of his physical presence. There he was all right, as real as those boxes of forbidden candy from his own disjointed childhood. Wonka put on his mask, which in actuality had become so much a part of him, that it hardly constituted application or falsification of any kind any longer:

"Are ya kidding? You taste like morning dewdrops and spring breezes trapped inside marshmallows and the flesh at the core of Asian pears and about a dozen other special, delicate things…yeah."

"I do not." The boy replied shyly.

"Uh-_HUH_." The man insisted in a child-like manner, then the face grew kind (as it so rarely did), "I'd stick it in a bottle and drink it all day if I could, but I'd rather tap it from the source."

"…me too." The boy said breathlessly as Wonka was turning and drawing his small shoulders upward inside the security of his arm, bringing his heir up toward his lips so that they could taste each other again. More experienced at kissing now, the different sized mouths easily fitted around each other so that they could melt together.

On a wooden knob, across the room, in a forgotten plum suede tailcoat, a musical chime sounded. The traveling of the automated tinkering brought back the circular wideness of the room; a sense that there was more to the world than only the little corner that the mismatched pair were currently occupying. The wind-up melody _was_ "Pure Imagination", but the time for dreaming was cut short.

An audible suction noise came from the swift removal of the man's lips. Staying on top of his face though, Wonka gave a quick gasp and said, "Why that's my pocket-watch! I'm late! For a very important date!"

The boy looked startled as the chocolatier then immediately picked up his languid form with himself, plopping the child upright upon the floor. "And so are you…my _dear boy_."

The last words were said with more inflection than usual.

"Wot date? Where are we supposed to be? We can't go anywhere like this!" Charlie was particularly concerned about the now mostly dry and stiff parts of his torn up black cat-suit. He most certainly didn't want anyone seeing that! The boy crossed one arm to hold the shoulder of the other while crossing the other one near his hip, in the type of adorable gesture that an off-guard person might attempt to cover their nudity with.

"So we'll bathe first!" Announced Wonka holding up one bare finger. He stared at his own skin with surprise. Forgotten he'd done that, the claddagh ring was _soo_ beautiful, maybe even more so knowing that the missing piece was on Charlie's finger and it used to be mama's…on her finger once…a long time ago. Oops, his mind wandered again, he refocused on the patient child quickly, adding after his intermittent pause, "Then change into fresh leotards. Heh, heh. Easy as pie!"

Willy went about reopening the armoire and pulling out two new stretchy uniforms. When he turned around, he noticed that his companion was adjusting the band around his forehead, "Say, ah, you don't have tah keep wearin' that thing."

Bashfully, the child replied, "But, I want it as…a sort of keepsake."

Like it or not, there was a blush in his cheeks again; admitting to the man that he actually _planned_ to keep thinking about what occurred. Whatever else would one do with such a 'reminder'?

Willy smirked, the chocolatier knew he'd be thinkin' about Charlie thinkin' about it all over again and _that_ realization was making him want to add to the treasure trove of memories, but there wasn't time for any more of _those_ sort of experiments. Fooey. His face shifted from a subtle leer to disappointment then settled on feigned virtuosity. Perkily he added, "All righty then, let it be yer new trademark."

"Trademark?" The boy sort of liked the sound of that.

"Why not, I've certainly got my fair share of 'em. And I can think of at _least_ a hundred ways to tie that long piece of fabric around ya…so yeah, _lots_ of options there…" There was a very distant look on Willy's face as his widened eyes peered into his heir's curious (and slightly intimidated) ones.

"Anyway, lets get to the rub-a-dub-dub part of our day, shall we?" And off he went with the bundle of clothes in his arms.

Charlie paused for only a second before following right behind his sashaying friend as he went around the center column of the room, leaving behind the large fireplace that looked out over the den.

It was probably better that the little boy was so focused on Wonka's enticing silhouette that he didn't notice that there was a spit inside of the wide brick expanse; ideal for roasting an entire wild animal or anything else that could grow to be around six feet tall. Walking down a few stairs he discovered a sterile room that was tiled from top to bottom. The compact space contained the most intertwined system of odd-looking copper pipes and gears that he had ever seen. This room was some weird sort of space-age bathroom that one would never guess would be inside the rustic, nearly enchanted looking tree house. Always so many surprises!

The hissing of a door sliding down from above came right after they entered. The boy looked back behind himself as a clinking of mechanisms indicated that the door was now locking them inside the brightly lit area. "Mr. Wonka, if you're the only one who can access the Secret Ingredients Room than why do you need such a secure door to the bathroom?"

Willy was currently bent down adjusting valves, one after the other after the other.

"Bubbles!" He answered pertinently, "Wouldn't wanna get them all over my beautifully polished hardwood floors, would we?"

As usual Charlie had no idea what his inventive friend was talking about, but didn't want to seem daft so he tried to figure out the puzzle of the words inside of his head rather than questioning it further. Wonka didn't like too many questions anyway, they often got in the way of his unique sense of logic (or what others might call _il_-logic).

The man then stood up to open hidden drawers that blended into the very walls, pulling out a series of large glass bottles filled with clear, golden, and cherry-colored liquid. He handed some to the boy after twisting off their tops with explosive sounding bursts of various degrees, then excitedly commanded, "Here, pour these into the funnels. All of it!"

"waOooOOooH!" Juggling the heavy and open pop bottles in his twiggy arms wasn't easy but the confectioner was too pre-occupied adjusting more gears to notice. "Wot's in these bottles, Mr. Wonka ?"

"Ginger aid, ginger pop, ginger beer, bubble-aid, bubble cola, double bubble cola, and oh yes, double bubble _burping_ cola! Powerful stuff!" He finally turned around and noticed that Charlie was struggling and hastily assisted him in the task, adding more and more litters of carbonation. "I used to use this for my Wonkamobile inside the factory. It got awful messy, so then I had tah come up with the Hsawaknow!"

"Ha-sah-wa-ka-wot?" The boy said.

That's _Wonkawash_, spelled backwards. It reverses the process and instantly cleans up the mess. Whenever I went through it I'd come out cleaner than when I'd started. So, I thought, _duh Willy_, why dontcha' use THIS in yer washrooms? Using this tah scrub up saves me a lot of time for thinkin' and ya don't even have to change your clothes. It'll do it for you! Got it?"

"We're going to take a bath with _soda_?" Mr. Wonka was always saying the most impossible things, always stretching his heir's imagination past its breaking point.

"Ahh…yup! Don't worry I'll go first. It's a cinch, you'll see!" Wonka unceremoniously chucked their clean clothes into a giant washing machine looking device that seemed to suck them down a black hole while Charlie stared into it:

_**TthHhwuuP!**_

He pulled off his suede boots and threw them in too with a slightly smaller sound:

_Thwip-thwuuP!_

"Toss me one last bottle, kiddo." Wonka held out his hand and skillfully caught the airborne glass container like a football. Standing on tip-toe to get at a tiny funnel, the chocolatier nearly lost his balance. A small body quickly found it's way under one arm to steady him. Wonka gave him a smile, "Never fear! Charlie's here!"

A sheepish smile was given in return, "Stop, I couldn't _really_ save you."

"Oh my goodness, but you already have! Don't you realize that?" Wonka spoke the words with absolute sincerity. Without his heels, he was a few inches closer than usual to the lad's face. Staring into the kind, admiring blueness of Charlie's gaze, he realized that he couldn't always take everything that was inside the windows to his heir's soul either. There was a lost, nearly forgotten piece of himself in there as there was a hidden, sad part of Charlie inside of his own. The chocolatier was going to release more emotion that he could stand if he didn't change the subject quickly. He looked away from the awestruck boy and cleared his throat, "Now, button, button, who's got the button?!"

"Is this the one?" Charlie said with a finger poised above a glowing object near him. Usually Wonka made his important buttons and knobs a shiny red crayon color. Probably because he always forgot where he put them. This one was no exception to either rule.

"Sure is! PUSH IT!" He grinned widely with the anticipation of showing off another impressive invention.

A clustering of odd noises began coming from every side of the room:

**Blurk!**

Ka-_chitty-chitty-bang-bang_.

**PSssstTiiccCCK!**

_Clang! Chukita! Chukita-chhuckita..._

…splurt! **blup-blup-blup**

BLURP!

Followed by bursts of thick, sudsy white foam spewing from the funnels. Small torrents shot everywhere. One of the trumpet-sized pipes shot across Charlie's form in a familiar fashion causing the boy to laugh while putting up his hands in front of his face. The foam was warm and surprisingly tasty! But not anywhere near as good as his previous treat.

Suddenly, four mechanical arms flung out and grabbed the man in front of him. Each one grabbed one limb. They gracefully began pulling Willy down the short passage. The chocolatier's head turned over one shoulder as the main tuba burst forth a loud torrent of soda fizz and brassy noise. In one last motion, he swiped the bandana off his heir's head and shouted, "See ya on the flip side!"

Charlie kept watching as his benefactor was pulled down the narrow area, foam flowing higher and higher up the walls and all over the two of them until he couldn't see anything anymore. Then the sensation of clamping devices on each of his limbs arrived. Unsure how to steady himself, the boy's support off the slippery floor was considerably less graceful as he wobbled back and forth. The grippers locked in place and he could wiggle no more; legs apart, arms slightly behind and above his back.

In another instant, there were new extensions emerging with brushes and swabs. The child felt as if he were inside a carwash! It was the oddest sensation! Next, his suit was delicately and precisely cut so that it could be completely torn free. There was another swab around and into an area that had never been so thoroughly cleaned before in its life: slightly more penetrating than a pair of fingers through the suit had been. It wasn't exactly unpleasant although it was quite startling.

"Ah!" was the only sound he made before foam filled that orifice too. The child tried to close his mouth but a smooth round pole had already inserted itself there too!

"Uhhn?" Tiny, fine bristles tickled his gums and into every dental gap. The thing was cleaning his teeth! At the same time more equipment gave him a jarring loofah all over his body. His arms were pulled upward while the scrubbing mechanisms got under them. He was being gently pulled around like a human marionette. One stretch of fabric gave his bottom a thorough scrub like one would polish a bowling ball. A new device had extended and cupped over his frontal anatomy, added suction and draining him of all the fluid in his bladder. That was not the way he would have ever intended for that bodily function to occur! However, he knew astronauts had the exact same device on spacecrafts and he did need the relief after all those hours.

From above a deluge of pleasantly warm water fell down his form, causing the white globs of suds to slide down his slim, suspended physique. All of the cleaning and inserted devices retracted back into the pipe-lined wall. He tilted his head upward and caught some of the sweet, clean water into his mouth for a gargle.

A sudden gust of hot air from an arc of hair-dryers blew away the last bits of bubble and dried his damp skin. Finally, he could see again, but it wasn't exactly a pleasant scene to behold. The false hand clamps were pushing him straight into the abyss of the open washing machine. Lifted off the floor, naked, and eyes wide, there was nothing he could do but comply!

He shouted as he went down the shoot - halfway between enjoying it and being scared out of his wits. It felt like he was being squeezed like a wet towel, like every molecule of his body was being dried. In less time than it took to have that thought, slaps of cool air hit him as he fell through the bottom of the vortex and onto a bouncy, plush surface. He was completely head over heals. Upside down and staring through his split legs he could see Mr. Wonka sitting patiently at the edge of a desk. His plum tailcoat, gloves, and lace accessories were back in place. There was also a remote in one hand and the former blindfold in the other. How he managed to hang on to it during his own 'Hsawaknow' experience was an utter mystery to the child. It was being dangled out for Charlie to take.

The boy completed the summersault that he had already been half-positioned into. Instantly righting himself onto all fours, hastily examining his body for damage, or even worse, _nudity_. He was relieved to find that he was in a new catsuit with his handmade poncho back in place. Amazing! He looked back at his mentor with pleasant, befuddled blinking. A loud burp suddenly snuck out of him. His hand was instantly over the offending mouth with an alarmed, "Pardon me!"

Willy laughed and tossed the boy the fabric, "You swallowed too much foam. Other than that, how ya feelin'?"

"Fluffy." His hands were patting at his somewhat poofy, freshly blow-dried hair as he put the band back in place.

A wide, wicked grin filled his mentor's face while the eyes focused above the boy's form.

"Why are you smiling like that?" Said the child with a suspicious tone.

"Cause." Willy pointed toward the wall that Charlie had fallen in front of.

His heir slipped off the big cushion and backed up to look where Mr. Wonka was staring. Above where he fell was an enormous, flat screen television divided into sections. Each one was showing a different area of the factory, some of the views changing constantly. The man hit a button on his sleek remote and one of the larger screens began rewinding. When 'play' was pushed, Charlie got to see images of himself being molested by the machinery in detail followed by the water washing him off.

His mouth dropped open, "You _filmed_ my _bath_!"

"Well, I had tah made sure that you were OK didn't I? I set that do-hickey on extra-thorough fer your sake." The smile had dropped and turned into mock seriousness.

The child squeaked, then managed to say, "But!"

Wrong word to choose! He kept going anyway, "I was in the all together! And wot do you mean by EXTRA-thorough? You mean all those-those _devices_ weren't _absolutely_ necessary?!"

"Hey, one good peek deserves another and only the stars above know the last time you were able to take a real hot bath in that shack the seven of ya live in. I bet we got _years_ of soot off." The comment was followed by another click of the remote. He wanted to watch the footage one more time.

"Just because we were _poor_ didn't mean we weren't _clean_, Mr. Wonka. My mum even swept and mopped the floors every other day." The boy had a huffy look on his face: a miniature version of his father's disgruntled one.

"Check yer ears." Mr. Wonka said flatly in response.

The child did so and found them to be far cleaner than they had ever been in his life. In fact he didn't know they could get that clean. Then he ran his tongue over his teeth, they were as smooth as the tiles on the bathroom floor. Not to mention he felt like his insides got _flossed_ and…was it possible to feel minty clean in your naughty bits? He wiggled his tush with a pondering expression.

"Huh? _Huh_? Wud I tell ya? NOW yer clean." A proud, twinkling smile accompanied the statement.

Charlie sighed. How could he argue? Instead he said with amused annoyance, "It's always going to be this way with you, isn't it?"

A flick of the eyes up into a thoughtful expression was followed with, "Pretty much. C'mon, admit it, ya wouldn't want it any other way."

The boy tossed his arms in the air with a surrendering gesture.

Wonka's grin widened, he popped off of the desk and went to sit in the leather upholstered chair. Clicking the remote again, he suddenly announced toward the screen, "Georgie boy! Howsit goin'?"

"Wonka! I've been sitting here waiting for your damn call for half an hour now!" A familiar voice made the boy's ears perk up. He turned to see a large display of his grandfather.

"Sorry," Wonka apologized and made motions with his hands to highlight his choice of words, "I was uh, really…INTO something. Lost all track of time!"

Charlie turned away from the television and glared at him.

Willy gave a short, brayed laugh. Aw, who knew kittens could glare?

"I only got impatient because I have good news! Remember those stories that you planted in the news to panic that holdout broadcasting company? It must have lit a real fire under their areses because now they're _desperate_ to get in on Wonkavision!" George gave an impressed chuckle and held up the papers for Wonka to examine.

The boy walked over to behind the desk, interested in both the subject and seeing his relative. The chocolatier's eyes were darting back and forth in a way that his heir knew meant he was actually reading the articles that quickly. Without removing his eyes from the screen his arm reached out and pulled Charlie onto his knee. Heart rate pulsing, the youth gave a panicked look at him.

"He can only see us from the shoulders up." Was intimately whispered into the child's ear while the reading continued. Newspaper and magazine text were the only things filling the monitor. The pair were currently located on the other side of the column that ran through the center of the treehouse, but one would never know what the rest of the place looked like based on the area that Mr. Wonka was currently sitting at. The desk and the entire area were designed like a backdrop on the set of a movie; lush, velvet curtains concealed the expanse of the jungle. Secrets and pre-meditative thought were the man's modus operandi.

Willy finished with a smug twist at the turn of his mouth. He cheerfully cued the older man to stop with a, "Kay! All done!"

Grandpa George put down all of the reading material and focused on his grandson who had come into view, "Good afternoon Charlie! How nice to see you! Did the self-defense training go well?"

Wonka flicked his eyelashes downward toward his heir but made no other movement. The child calmly replied, "Mr. Wonka put me in a real combat situation and…I learned a lot."

"So did I!" Chirped Wonka. He added with a fondness in his voice and a tilt of his head toward the boy, "I've never met anyone as brave as they were gentle."

"mpf." His heir lowered his eyes with an embarrassed puff of air.

"Yeah, Charlie makes us look like a couple of crusty old men. I was a kinder sort of person before the wars." The older man's icy blue eyes showed the depth of those memories.

"Oh? You were in the military?" The chocolatier was genuinely interested in that fact though he most certainly did not agree with being described as 'crusty'. Ew. He'd rather be 'crispy'.

A solitary nod followed from Grandpa George. "Joe was lucky to be flat-footed, I got drafted more than once. I don't like to talk about it."

Wonka nodded back with a solemn. "I…understand."

There was a pause.

Charlie knew that both men were speaking the truth. He decided to lighten up the mood again, "So now _all_ the broadcasting companies across the _whole_ wide world will be connected to Wonkavision?"

"Yep, just as soon as that hold-out pays me DOUBLE what I was askin' before. Ya snooze, ya loose, baby." A chortle was exchanged between both men. The mood had lightened, but not in a way that the boy anticipated.

"Your benefactor is one heck of a businessman Charlie. I think he plays up that balmy bit to throw off the competition." He leaned into the camera with that stern look he got from lowering his bushy brows, "You better be listening to everything he says, young man."

"Yes sir." The child repressed showing any emotion in reaction to that comment.

Wonka was less successful in suppressing his, but the devilish look went with the previous conversation going unnoticed by the family member.

"I still can't believe he's black-mailing bloody NASA!" Exclaimed the man with a slap of his palm to his unseen knee.

"Black-mailing is such an _ugly_ word, George." Willy looked into the questioning eyes of his pupil then back at the screen. "It's a…_mutual_ agreement of…discretion. Yeah. Besides, once the dish is launched, I'm turnin' the rest into a _hotel_ which they can recoup a lot of funds from. Think of how much people will be willin' tah pay to vacation in outer space! That's a lotta money for _research_."

"And not a bad way to get the National Aeronautics and Space Administration to put their best engineers keeping the craft up and running." Said Grandpa George wryly.

"Heh. Well, it IS in _their_ best interests tah keep it in workin' order. I'm not _completely_ misanthropic. 'Specially where the government is concerned." The boy on his knee squirmed as a hand was slowly brushed up his thigh.

"I hear you." The silver-haired man closed his eyes and nodded, his down-turned features making his face look like rippled clay on a potter's wheel.

"Saaay, I've got good news too. Ya remember that new thing I've been workin' on? The one we talked about ahem last night over drinks?" A new crafty glint was in his eyes.

"Oh good Lord, yes! Wot about it then?" The old man's eyes had widened greatly.

"Charlie helped me get the last ingredients for it today!" The chocolatier knew this information would be even less of a reason that the family should ever object to any detail that the lad just might ever mention to them about the brutal harvesting. After all, who would stand in the way of a _miracle_?

"Thas' marvelous! Good job, young man, VERY good job!" Congratulated Grandpa George.

Charlie looked quizzically at Wonka who only gave the flash of a wink in response. "All right, it's been a delight, but I have promises to keep and miles to go before I sleep." The man gave a tip of his infamous black satin top hat.

"Over and out, Wonka." The senior man in the bathrobe gave a stiff salute with his hand.

The portion of the screen with his grandfather's face turned black.

"Tell me!" The child immediately demanded in an excited voice.

"My, oh me, have we forgotten our manners so quickly? Am I going to have to make your bottom all prickly?" The shadowed lids of his eyes fluttering and an apple-cheeked smile accompanied the threat.

"Uhh.." Charlie wasn't quite sure how to respond. Usually this pleading method worked fairly well. Yet, this offer wasn't entirely unappealing. An apology would get him out of trouble so that wasn't the way to go. Hadn't he been asked to misbehave sometimes?

Sure enough the lack of response got him pulled by the stretchy garment and tugged over the man's lap with a powerful slap on his freshly bathed and therefore especially sensitive behind. At that angle and broad as the man's hand was, it managed to whack both cheeks _and_ an even more sensitive set of body parts that were suspended tightly underneath them.

"OH!" He exclaimed, mouth wide open. An array of reactions went shooting through his entire body. Wasn't punishment supposed to feel _bad_? The second whack on top of the sting felt even more interesting! After that Charlie was yanked back up again.

"Any more than that and you'll get all sticky." Came another line of rhyme. A latex-covered finger was waved in his face accompanied by the same saccharine look.

A short pant came from the flushed child. "Yes…sir."

Wonka glanced at the tiny erect nipples showing through the boy's outfit. As he suspected, Charlie wasn't truly harmed by the ordeal. Double fooey. Darn his tight…ahem schedule. The man released the child. Then he got up and primped at his outfit. "Glad we understand each other again 'cause we gotta deliver those ingredients and then there's a few other things that need to be--"

There was a sudden sharp, little pinch on his famous behind. Willy stopped in mid tug of his lace cuff, face frozen.

The boy giggled. He pulled the same trick that his dad had with his mum. As soon as Wonka turned his head, Charlie took off like a shot and shouted, "Last one to the Great Glass Elevator is a rotten egg!"

The Oompa-loompas of the Inventing Room were amused at how informal their entrusted employers were behaving upon arrival. They carefully took all but one of the cooler boxes. The sleek design allowed them to interlock and be stacked one upon the other. A bucket brigade of miniature men passed them down a line to the appropriate sectors of unconventional laboratory machinery; humming rhythms as they did so.

Meanwhile, a game of 'catch me if you can' was being played around the various pieces of equipment. The mystery of the predominantly black and silver room was disrupted by the sounds of Charlie screaming in delight as he dashed away from the playfully snarling man. The boy was running him in circles and back again; madly dashing under tubes, past countless vats, bubbling fluids and around brightly colored glowing gears. Finally, he crouched under what he thought was a nicely hidden spot while Willy's boots clicked past him.

One of the dark-eyed, tan skinned men pointed and a top-hatted head suddenly bent down to meet the trapped victim. The child shouted, "Using Oompa-loompas is cheating!"

"Says who?" Dismissed Wonka.

"Says me!" Insisted Charlie.

"Says _I_." Corrected the dominant mentor.

"_You_ have no business correcting _other_ people's grammar." Came a familiar, strangely timbered voice.

"Madame Rose!" Charlie said brightly, he slipped out of his hiding place safely past his fancifully dressed hunter and over to the wise, white-haired female Oompa-loompa. She was wearing another puffy dress that fell to the ground, but this one had leopard spots instead of the caterpillar ones from yesterday. He wanted to gently hug her, but stopped when he saw that every worker in the room had crossed their arms and bowed their head. From the glossy floor to the various narrow platforms not one of the men in the slick black jumpsuits was moving. Even the constant jumbled sounds of the machinery had lowered to quiet decibels.

The sound of Wonka's heels coming to rest next to his heir was the only noise before a deep, unified chanting began:

_HHhhhmmooMMMmmmmmmm-pa!_

_HHhhhmmooMMMmmmmmmm-pa!_

The boy was so impressed that he found himself crossing _his_ arms and bowing _his_ head as the other dark-skinned people had done. Wonka gave him a backhanded slap to discourage the posture, shaking his head when the child made eye contact.

_HHhhhmmooMMMmmmmmm-pa!_

The tiny woman raised up her arms into a point with a serious look she cheered, "LoooOOOOm-PAH!"

The men lined up all over the room lifted up their own arms into the same position and shouted back in masculine tones:

"_LoooOOOOm-PAH!"_

She slowly turned around in a 360° circle to look across the room though her light-colored, milky eyes could not truly see anyone. The tiny woman with the fanned hair ended by facing Charlie again, as all the men returned to their work. "Where have you been Restorer? We prepared a meal in your honor. Word of your culinary deeds traveled through the whole factory and some secret admirers wanted to mimic their new hero."

"Me, a _hero_ with secret admires?! Really?" Said the boy still in awe of the entire spectacle that he had beheld.

"Most certainly. We all strive to impress the Rescuer and you manage to do it every day. After all, you are his chosen one." She spread out her hands with the palms turned out.

'Chosen one', sounded a lot different than 'grand prize winner' or 'least rotten'. Charlie looked up at Mr. Wonka whose face had become inscrutable. The brown-haired boy tilted his head back downward, "Madame Rose, why did the other Oompa-loompas do that greeting for you?"

"Because I am the eldest of our people and that is not an easy accomplishment in Loompaland, as you experienced first hand today." Word of that had spread as well. It meant a great deal to the small people that Wonka's heir had seen and taken on the monsters of their homeland. It was another reason for the day's mission. Candy making didn't have to have a purpose, but raising an _heir_ most certainly did.

"She's the alpha female." Added Wonka.

The phrase 'alpha' was new to the boy and this enhanced his understanding of it. So, _people_ could be labeled in that way too, he thought, while eying his mentor.

"Now, come sit and eat. We have several surprises for you." Madame Rose held out her hand and a nearby Oompa-loompa worker carefully guided her across the room toward the assembled arrangement.

The child was led to a rectangular fold out table off to the side of the room. The glossy black surface was decorated with a colorful array of miniature candy topiaries and multiple silver platters with elegant covers. However, what really had the boy's attention was the group of four child Oompa-loompas in shiny, jumpsuits with argyle bands across the front of their uniforms.

Willy smiled, "Ta-DAH! Surprise! Charlie, I'm givin' ya yer own personal team of Oompa-loompas! They will all take their orders directly from _you_. Meet Summer, Winter, Spring, and Autumn. Autumn, is the first girl tah ever be part of an inventing team!"

Charlie was bowled over! What a surprise! And they were completely adorable, each of them staring at him with eager eyes in outfits that were an homage to his original sweater. Since they were young, their swirled top-notches hadn't grown in yet. Instead each had spiked, wind-blown looking hair like troll dolls. August only differed from her team by way of a small pair of earrings shaped like cocoa beans. The workers came up to about his knee, just like the adult ones did on Mr. Wonka. Gosh, it really made him wish he had his top hat.

"Thank you!" He enthusiastically reached around the man's waist with an appreciative hug as Violet had done, only this time it was quite welcome. The Oompa-loompas were glad that both males were pleased.

Madame Rose spoke next, "And each one prepared a dish especially for you to try."

"They're so young and they already know how to cook?" Said the boy, impressed.

"The same could be said about you." Reminded the tiny, old woman.

Charlie couldn't wait to get to know his team! He put out his finger for each one to shake and eagerly began talking. He also shared his own basket of baked goodies with them in exchange for the dishes that were prepared in his honor. Clearly they were intimidated, but soon after seeing 'Wonka's heart' use his limited Loompish, tiny voices began clustering for attention from their new young boss. Wonka was more deeply pleased than he could have imagined. A warm feeling filled him as he quietly watched the entire scene unfold from a slight distance.

His entrusted personal advisor, who had come to stand beside him, interrupted the elation. "Could I borrow your cane for a moment?"

"Certainly." He handed it to her without tearing his eyes away from the gathering, too distracted to consider what the request was for.

**Bap!**

"Ouch! What didja do that for?" Willy rubbed the spot of his leg where the old woman had given him a good bop.

"Why is that child _glowing_ with magick? What have you two been doing _besides_ gathering ingredients?" Accusation was in her eyes despite their lack of normal vision.

"N-nothing…I-we had a quarrel and then we…um, made up. Heh,heh,heh." His giggle did nothing to improve her scrunched up glower. "He only got a _little_ taste."

**Bap!**

"I knew it! I should've had you wear a _chastity_ belt." She hissed, her tin sounding voice hitting odd octaves.

The pair turned around and stepped further away from the lunch spread. Willy asked, "Wut's the big deal anyway? He's fine and I feel _fantastic_!"

"He's filled with unfocused, very powerful energy. That's the 'big deal'! There's no telling what form it could take since you didn't get it back out of him." Her small head shook back and forth in disapproval.

"…oh. Well, he did, uh…_react_ after the first…" He halted his words, "Um, can I have my cane back?"

"Finish your sentence." She held the borrowed staff tighter.

Wonka took a good step backwards, "…swallow."

The old woman sighed and nearly laughed, "That's one passionate reaction you cause, such a fortunate partner. At least that will be a bit less magick than he could be carrying around."

"Then ah…why don't I just _drain_ him of the rest?" An eyebrow arched at the mere prospect of that.

"Too late. He'll have absorbed it all by now. I hope there aren't any _uncontrollable_ consequences from your inability to control _yourself_." The little woman gave him a prod from the horn on the handle then allowed him to have the item back.

The man had a slightly guilty look on his face as he took it. He twirled the cane by its top for a second. "Yer always sayin' that all things happen for a reason. And besides…"

The man warily looked around then crouched down to her diminutive ear, "I got some extra special _ingredients_ in that last cooler on the elevator."

A very knowing expression came across her face. "Then we've got a lot of work to do, don't we?"

Willy Wonka walked back over to his heir who was still joyfully consuming food and engaging with his new team. All four of the young Oompa-loompas grew stoic as the man tilted down to speak to the seated child. "Charlie, myself and Madame Rose have some business to attend to. I want you to stay here and keep workin' with ya new team. 'Kay?"

"Oh, but..won't I see you again today?" There was a definite longing in his voice and concern on his face.

"Uh, well, this could take some time. Tell ya what though, I'll be sure to take a break and come find ya before dinner." The sweetness in his tone was earnest for a change.

Charlie lowered his eyes for a second. "…all right. Can I ask one question before you go?"

Willy laughed and grabbed the scoop of the boy's nose in a playful tug, "Always so many questions. What's up doc?"

The boy shyly proceeded, "When Madame Rose called me _your_ 'chosen one' did that mean that you did pick me from the other golden ticket winners or not?"

Wonka considered while twisting his fingers around the brim of his hat at the same time that he traced the tip of his tongue over his upper lip, "Sometimes, it's hard tah know whether _something_ chooses _us_ or if _we_ chose _it_. Either way, I ain't complaining."

Charlie gave his sweet, crooked, deeply dimpled smile. Light danced in his eyes in a way that was similar to his benefactor's. He liked the answer, but couldn't resist saying, "_Ain't_ isn't a word, Mr. Wonka."

The man gave him an amused look and stood up. "Why dontcha' try _conjuring_ up some new ideas. I've got a hunch you've got the Midas touch today."

"Mm! Yes sir!" The boy gave an enthusiastic nod and turned to his quartet. "Let's work on the raspberry kites after lunch!"

They all crossed their arms over their chests with a slap against their shoulders in response. Wonka gave a toothy grin with a twist of his head. Perfect, he thought and started to walk away with a bounce of his hair.

"Wait!" Charlie's voice called after him.

When the chocolatier turned around, he saw the boy right behind him holding up a napkin with a plump sandwich inside. "Here. You haven't had anything to eat."

"Why, thank you." He took the food with a gentle gratitude and the thought of Mrs. Bucket crossed both of their minds. There was an intense second of eye contact before the child dashed back to his team. The man made sure his heir was back at the table before he crooked his finger at one of the lead workers. He leaned down and stated, "I recently got an idea for a new sort of candy. I want ya to make a room called Fill By Mouth."

The two exchanged a chuckle before the man got onto the elevator with Madame Rose and the cube-shaped storage device. Wonka pushed a button called, Secret Room.

"Shameless." The old woman tisked at the smiling man as the vehicle zipped away.

--scene break--

Perhaps because he could focus better at the task at hand, Willy's plans for the satellite were finally making some sense to Mr. Bucket in the Reverse Engineering Room. Or perhaps it was because he'd be knackered if someone was going to suggest that he wasn't bright enough to figure them out himself. At any rate, the problem was that he had not understood that Mr. Wonka appeared to want _living quarters_ inside the device. Heavens only knew what they were for. He abhorred the idea of his entire family living in outer space. The chocolate factory was far-out enough, thank you very much!

What really caught his attention were the small emergency capsules that were also to be installed. Handy little vehicles they were, he thought. The machine was absolutely "ginormous" as the chocolatier would put it. The rest of us would probably settle for huge, as an appropriate description, but that wouldn't completely describe its whale of a size, made all the more terrifying by it's suspension from the ceiling. This was necessary in order to allow entry and construction through the underbelly of it.

Mr. Bucket had decided to keep working on the thing partly to impress his son, although he wasn't feeling terribly confident about doing anything that would make Willy Wonka even more powerful and famous. That seemed rather difficult to avoid in his current set of circumstances though. Another motivator to keep plugging away at it, were the tiny men giving him a lot of sideways glances. He found himself as grateful as Mr. Wonka for the over-sized spectacles today; at least with those on, none of the little buggers could see into his paranoid eyes. He nervously wiped at the side of his face with a greasy glove. It didn't matter; he was already well marked with sweat and oil from his hard work of the day anyhow. The steel processing and welding really heated up the room. That was fine if you were from Loompaland, but a rather humid for Europeans.

At the moment the Bucket father was scaling up the side of the metal behemoth; glancing between the blueprints (which Wonka had printed in _purple_, so technically they were 'purpleprints' by his boggling logic) and the gizmo. His body was held safely in place by a harness that resembled those worn by mountain climbers; straps crisscrossing under his arms and crotch with a band around his waist hooked to lots of rope. He freely bounced from one area to another by use of his thickly soled rubber boots, using the pulleys to move up and down at will.

The dish was capable of broadcasting to all the major television satellites already in orbit. Mr. Wonka had provided him with information about that as well. The engineer had no idea how many unmanned vessels were circling around our planet until this project. In order to make Wonkavision™ work, this satellite would actually need to be compatible with all the other broadcasting equipment out there. It wasn't an easy task, but Wonka seemed completely undaunted. He even got the other companies to be compliant about their codes. No one wanted to be left out of the new technological loop and the chocolatier could be very silver-tongued about his promises; easily playing the competing companies against each other. His best methods were through controlled press leaks; it was dastardly clever. Many times _they_ ended up contacting _him_. Very manipulative fellow, but according to him, their own greed and jealousy against their competitor was to blame. Otherwise, he'd have nowhere to maneuver. Good point.

The eldest Bucket member, Grandpa Joe, had regaled all of this over meals. Again, Mr. Wonka was clever by making an extremely warm and likable man his main Public Relations person. It was often assumed that the reclusive candy maker would be of a similar nature. Huh, if they only knew, thought the engineer. Although, like it or not, one had to be impressed. The chocolatier _had_ played the billion dollar conglomerates like a fiddle. That was only entertaining if such abilities didn't extend to his very own family.

However, if Willy thought TWO members of the Bucket family were concerned about his actions, than the anxious man's own nerves might get the best of him and scare him off any far-fetched notions that might have crept into his demented skull about Charlie. Assuming of course that he really was on to something. Otherwise, Mr. Bucket figured he simply was hedging his bets. He didn't need Willy Wonka to like him as much as he needed him to know that _he_ was still the little boy's father…and very much married to his mother!

The Bucket father thought back to when his wife had told him that she was pregnant. It had seemed like a miracle. They had been trying without any success for years. They were fairly certain that there was something wrong with one of them. Mr. Bucket always suspected that it was himself. He didn't take very good care of himself when he was a younger man. Blame it on boredom, frustration, poor choices, depression – it got out of hand. His wife put up with a lot, but all that changed when Charlie came around. A son! He swore he'd be a different sort of bloke and worked tirelessly at underpaid, boring jobs: one after the other. His wife ended up giving up her part-time baking job. She had to stay home to take care of their aging parents (who didn't do much, but refused to pass on to Heaven either) and raise the new life. Why, if it hadn't been for the blessing of their child they wouldn't have had anything to look forward to in their lives. It did weigh on his soul though…what kind of life they had given the boy. I mean, one bar of chocolate a year? It wasn't human. It was no kind of life for a child. Had any damage been done? Is that why the rebellion was coming to surface under his new lifestyle and tutelage?

It hurt way too much to imagine that Willy Wonka could give Charlie a much better life than the Buckets ever would. Besides, they were on their way up before Willy changed his addled mind. It wasn't like they _really_ needed him. No, not really. In fact, the Buckets were doing HIM a favor. Yes, that was more like it. Reasoning it out, he really did have the upper hand over the chocolatier. They could pack their things and go at any time. They were perfectly within their rights to do such. Willy Wonka couldn't stop them. Not by law. They weren't bloody prisoners. He'd have to talk to Charlie before they did anything that drastic. Then again, if he thought like the candyman, he _wouldn't_ consult his son – merely remind Wonka of that fragile little fact. That might keep his bum in a proper pair of trousers!

Down below he noticed that more metals were being melted and soldered. Large cauldrons of copper, aluminum, steel and even _gold_ blazed in different hues; glowing like lava inside of a volcano. The Oompa-loompas on a near-by platform were motioning for him to come over and supervise a particularly large vat. Today didn't feel like a good day to do that. He shook his head and motioned for them to proceed without him. Thank goodness they understood regular hand gestures as well as their own language. The tiny men motioned again for him to come over. Mr. Bucket held up the prints with a grin that he copied from Willy Wonka while exaggeratingly pointing at the paper. He thought - No, no, I'm much too busy doing this to get shoved into a pot of scalding hot metal. Cheers!

In actuality the father wasn't sure the little men were plotting his death, but he didn't mind erring on the side of caution either. A succession of Loompa giggles followed his second refusal. Oh great, they think it's funny that I currently fear for my life. Right-o, that's completely hysterical. He thought sarcastically while grinning more widely at them. Then, he caught his own reflection and flinched at how much it looked like the man he currently hated. Yikes! Is _this_ how one goes _mad_ then?

The sound of a loud snap distracted his moment of irony. It seemed that the joke was on the Oompa-loompas as a thin railing suddenly broke from the excess heat. Four of them hung on to each other for support, but a fifth one had been too close to the edge and was currently gripping to what was left of the scaffolding. The other four seemed mesmerized by the sight of their fellow worker dangling dangerously above the large molten vat.

Mr. Bucket was only horrified for a moment. He dropped the "purpleprints" allowing them to scatter across the floor and undid some of the harness devices holding him in place. Faster than he thought he would, his body swung toward the collapsing supports from the higher angle of the Satellite's body. He gripped onto a sturdy pole to steady himself before releasing more rope. Sideways and slowly, he slipped toward the dangling man: the updraft of the heat and his nerves causing him to perspire immediately. The colors of the shiny outfits were nearly lost in the angry orange flame. Stretching his arm as far as he could still didn't quite reach. He released more rope, sliding closer still to the scalding hot vat. The toddler-sized hand was reaching up toward his own. The worker's tiny boot had started to melt and actual terror could be seen in his dark eyes. A huge liquid metal bubble popped, throwing scalding material everywhere; some splattered onto his extended arm and across some of the Loompa. Where the silvery material was, they were protected. However, Mr. Bucket had insisted on a shirt under his overalls; rather than a giant, identical jumpsuit to the workers. His arm took some damage as he released an agonizing scream. Still, he didn't withdraw the limb.

Finally they made contact.

"Pull me UP!" Hollered Mr. Bucket, tears of pain escaping his eyes. "Pull me up NOW, damn it!"

It took the efforts of six of them to do the task. At the same time another group had finally turned off the boiling metal. Not that it would be cooling down any time soon; the hissing and bubbling barely slowed. The uncomfortable gripping surface of the scaffolding felt wonderful beneath him. Then again, _any_ solid surface at this point would. Only once he was safe on a sturdy part of the construction area did the man realize what he had done. He had reacted without thinking. Reflexively, Mr. Bucket had been cradling the fallen creature. He couldn't really feel anything in his burned arm and avoided even looking at it. Smoke trailed off both bodies.

The Oompa-loompas had dashed over and were looking up at him completely startled. Mr. Bucket had not spent much time eye to eye with the pigmy type people, but sitting down caused that to happen and caused one to have a very different perspective of them as a result. They weren't dolls when you looked right into their faces. The eyes of the small man he had saved were filled with great bewilderment or perhaps wonderment. The older man had thought it might be on account of being held like a child; which is probably what he had been equating him with when he swept into action in the first place. No other thoughts filled his mind as he passed into a black oblivion from shock and collapsed.

**Author's Notes**:

**If you like this story, come visit me and my Wonkateer friends at Deviant art under "idolhands".**

_**"Are you feelin' lucky today, punk? Well, are ya?", **_** is a quote from Clint Eastwood in ****Dirty Harry****. I don't like everything the man has done in his life, but I'm a big fan of his films. **

"**I love my love with an H", is a quote from the novel, ****Alice in Wonderland**** as are the majority of my Chapter titles. In this case, the quote refers to a Victorian England game where one would use each letter of the alphabet in this manner:**

_**I love my love with an "A" because he's (fill in the blank).**_

_**I hate him because he's (fill in the blank) .**_

_**He took me to the Sign of the (fill in the blank).**_

_**And treated me with (fill in the blank).**_

_**His name's (fill in the blank).**_

_**And he lives at (fill in the blank).**_

**The **_**Wonkamobile**__**Wonkawash**_** and all the carbonated drinks come from the 1970's movie with Gene Wilder, as does the line, **_**"Button, button, whose got the button?"**_** The rest of that kinky scene is from me watching waaay too much Japanese animation. Also, this was an opportunity to finally use some of the thorough bathroom equipment that I had imagined the chocolatier possessing in another fan fiction I wrote titled, "Cravings". You can find all of the four chapters of that story here or atadultfanfiction (dot) net**

**Who caught the ****Chitty Chitty Bang Bang**** in the sound effects? If you didn't, allow me to point you in the direction of a real fun, classic movie that I'm sure Willy would enjoy.**

"**I have promises to keep and miles to go before I sleep" is a famous line from Robert Frost's poem, ****The Road Less Traveled****. I think most eccentric geniuses have taken a lot of those.**

**Mr. Wonka's outfit is meant to be reticent of David Bowie's costume as "The Goblin King" in the movie ****Labyrinth**

**The ****Secret Room**** is another real room inside of the factory according to advertisements designed under director Tim Burton. So is the ****Fill By Mouth Room****. snort I am fortunate to have a list of the rooms inside the elevator from a fan who was close to a cardboard advertisement at a movie job and wrote them all down.**

**Charlie's team and many of the names of the Oompa-loompas reflect a respect to Paganism. People of this religion commonly draw inspiration from nature and Greek/Roman Gods. The only worker addressed personally by the chocolatier is "Doris": a name that is surprisingly of mythological origin. **

**And what do ya know, the arrival of Charlie has ushered in a bit of feminism among the people! That's not an accident either as I am working toward giant archetypes of symbolism in the storyline (among the perversion).**

**!!! - I have occasionally received critique from fellow authors that could be construed as concern or possible jealousy about the tone of my works. First of all, this IS a story. It should not be taken too seriously. I still enjoy G-rated fictions and Dahl's work in its pure form. I do not need Mr. Wonka to be pagan or a "pedophile". Rather, I am tackling issues within myself that are as complex as these subjects – my art is highly personal. However, for the record, these tales are NOT intended as an endorsement for any type of religion or lifestyle; it is the exploration of two imaginary characters in extraordinary circumstances doing imaginary things. Meant only to entertain and perhaps provoke thought. Please keep your senses. However, it would appear I chose correctly when titling this work (based on the lyrics in Michael Jackson's song of the same name).**


	14. Volume 14

**Title:** Is It Scary, volume XIV (Volume Fourteen; To Sleep, Per Chance To Dream)

**By:** IDOL HANDS

**Rating:** Mature Demented Audiences

**Warnings:** For dramatic and adult themes, alternate Paganism, sex magick, bondage undertones, violence, an under-aged/adult slash ("shota" or "chan") relationship, inappropriate family relationships and a dash of cross-dressing. **Don't mind the weird warnings. Give me a chance – you'll see.**

**Disclaimer:** The characters portrayed are not my property but that of the estate of R. Dahl, Tim Burton, Freddie Highmore and Johnny Depp.

**Summary:** Bubble, bubble, toil and trouble. It's all cooking at the factory. What will happen to Mr. Bucket and how will it affect the family? A very interesting dinner ahead! Big secrets are revealed about them, Grandma Josephine finds out what her gift does and Willy tells a bedtime story.

**Humpty-Dumpty Had a Great Fall...**

The brink of oblivion.

That's what it would look like to anyone else - a great event horizon where time ceased, where life met death. This was where Willy Wonka currently stood. Where he commanded the essences of his ingredients to formulate into the invention of his mind. He'd been working on this recipe for a very long time and he'd made terrible mistakes along the way, worse than his usual sort. Such mistakes had led him into the snake pit of the Gnoolie's limbo.

There was a balance to the universe; an order that Wonka learned to pull and tug like silly putty, but it still demanded checks and balances, an eternal give and take. No matter how much he attempted to cheat it. He stared and stared downward, suspended far above by some unknown force. Madame Rose stood below him and off to the side, in a room that seemed to have no true floor or walls -- there was only a dark engulfing void.

This would be the very embodiment of 'black magic' to any Pagan worshipper; few who wouldn't say that what he was doing was "wrong", "unnatural", or "going too far" even though nearly everyone ever born desired this particular creation. The man who called himself a chocolatier knew that he didn't really stand here, this place didn't really exist, or rather…it existed _everywhere_ at once. Here, he merely focused and worked within a piece of it:

THE HOOF OF A MANTICORE

THE TRUNK (AND SUITCASE) OF AN ELEPHANT

THE YOLKS OF THREE EGGS FROM A WHIFFLEBIRD

A WART FROM A WART HOG

THE HORN OF A COW (A LOUD ONE)

THE FRONT TAIL OF A COCKATHRICE

SIX OUNCES OF SPRUNGE FROM A YOUNG SLIMESCRAPER

TWO HAIRS (AND ONE RABBIT) FROM THE HEAD OF A HIPPOCAMPUS

THE BEAK OF A RED-BREASTED WILBATROSS

A CORN FROM THE TOE OF A UNIHORN (NOT A UNICORN)

THE FOUR TENTACLES OF A QUADROPUS

THE HIP (PO AND POT) OF A HIPPOPOTAMUS

THE SNOUT OF A PROGHOPPER

A MOLE FROM A MOLE

THE HIDE (AND THE SEEK) OF A SPOTTED WHANGDOODLE

THE WHITES OF TWELVE EGGS FROM A TREESQUEAK

THE SQUARE ROOT OF A SOUTH AMERICAN ABACUS

THE FANGS OF A VIPER (IT MUST BE A VINDSHIELD VIPER)

THE CHEST (AND DRAWERS) OF A WILD GROUT

It was a brew of frightful and ridiculous things that only this person could have collected; that only his multi-dimensional mind could even conjure from obscure texts & forgotten manuals. The ideas behind the craft were most important; the ingredients were nearly symbolic, but they would ensure a product that one could hold in the palm of one's hand. Still, the chasm required one last item that he couldn't previously possess. He needed the hearts from those snozzwhangers that died before the eyes and inside that high-pitched scream of a person truly frightened of death. He couldn't provide it and neither could any of the Oompa-loompas. Until recently, Wonka had even denied death's existence, since nothing seemed to be able to come close to killing him and his body barely aged. He chalked that fact up to how much quality chocolate he ate and left it at that. Like himself, the dwarf-like people were very long lived once they had the safety of the factory. They understood death intimately as a society, but they no longer feared it.

Down farther than a normal person should have been able to see, glowed golden strands of light like nebulas in deepest space. The man's hand swirled in slow counter-clockwise circles like he was stirring a giant stockpot and the dusty veins gathered into a singular mass.

"They're ready." Called Madame Rose from behind him. She had sensed the completion and needed to ascertain that the man had not drifted away inside his mind. Until the arrival of his heir, her greatest fear was of him succumbing to this trance of nothingness in order to acquire peace, for a great turmoil fluctuated inside of their leader and she knew it.

"I see them." His voice was trance-like and it sounded like it came from a hundred places at once. With great care he began to pull up the largest, longest ladle that had probably ever been crafted. The objects wriggled within the spoon. Without warning the man in the top hat let out a high-pitched, "OH!"

"What's the matter? Has something gone wrong?" She didn't dare move despite her concern.

"No, not here, somewhere else…I...lost one." His eyes stared blankly forward into the engulfing darkness.

The man blinked them shut for the first time in a great, long while. Blackness faded to grey growing lighter and lighter. Opening them again, he stood upon a towering ladder in an empty, pale room. The walls were embellished with arcane lines and symbols that covered it from floor to ceiling, their visibility faded in the renewed light. The ladle reached to the bottom of the lone piece of furniture in the narrow, impossibly high vertical room.

Madame Rose could sense the change again. It would be safe to move now. Willy stayed motionless as she approached the bottom of the spoon. Lying inside was a hard brown lump; she removed the solidified object and cracked it open with the head of his cane. Inside was a singular radiating pellet that vibrated so quickly one could not discern an exact shape. The formation of each of these precious objects took great time, materials, and concentration to create. The chocolatier had worked to near exhaustion. She spoke gently and gathered the wriggling pill into an onyx jar. "This is enough for today. Let us leave and go looking for the missing piece you felt."

"…'kay." He began to step uncertainly off the skyscraper of a ladder, leaving the cascading utensil hooked to the top of it. He spoke only once more as he carefully clung to the railing. Luckily, backwards was a bit easier than forwards on his leg. "Sumthin' is funny though…_off_. Huh."

Once at the bottom he shuddered, consciousness completely back. Strangely, he seemed to notice the bottle and its contents for the first time. Despite the opaque color of the vessel there was a brightness threatening to escape. It was the same mystical appearance that the katana sword and athame dagger gave and, to some extent, his own skin. With the sound of someone who had won at a carnival game, he said joyfully, "Hey, we did it!"

"_You_ did it, Rescuer. I only supervised, only stood as a guide. The magick is too dangerous to do alone. That you even manage…" She didn't hide the tone of awe in her voice.

"It's easy. Really, I dunno know why everyone _can't_ do it." The man casually took his cane and pushed for the elevator to come with an exacting motion of his finger. Unlike his candies and his inventions, he didn't like to make a fuss about this sort of thing. His workers did though.

Her diminutive hands carefully clutched the container as she gazed at it. This was what she meant when she had told Charlie that she could see far more than a regular person. While true faces, delicate shadows, and the gestured language of her people where forever lost to her – entrancing, neon colored lights replaced those visions and disturbed the blackness of her world. It took Madame Rose a long time to understand what such things were and to learn how to interpret them. She could see the pills in a way that no one else but Willy Wonka could and she could see the chocolatier in a way that he refused accept. She replied, "Thank Loompaland they can't. It's the stuff of our oldest legends. Things we told children from generation to generation without knowing if there was even any truth to it."

As usual, Wonka was both flattered and made nervous by Madame Rose's comments. His eyes darted to her transfixed face then back to the empty glass tube while he tapped his foot. He stated, "At least one of those is for you, ya know."

The tiny old woman fluttered her pupiless eyes in disbelief, "If you're not worthy of them than I'm definitely not."

"Hogwash, yer most definitely worthy if only to keep givin' me a hard time." The twinge of a smile pulled at one corner of his face. He didn't have the energy for more exaggerated features than that. "Besides, Charlie likes ya too."

Her finely lined lips pursed into a smile as well, "All right then, but only one."

"And one for the chief." He added pertly followed by a mysterious, "We know whom the rest are goin' to."

Thinking about life and death made her mind revert to the man's earlier statements, "Have we lost a worker? Has something gone wrong?"

Something had gone wrong and it wasn't the death of an Oompa-loompa, it nearly felt like a death, but the pain was wrong: piercing, not dull from old age, not the twinge of something that slipped away and he might get back, more like a _cutting_ sensation inside of his soul (assuming that he still had a piece that he hadn't sold).

He cocked his head to the side, "I'm not sure. It felt different than usual, like something's been….severed."

The elevator appeared at that second and both parties stepped aboard. Willy noticed that as usual the button for the Secret Room had moved. It would be hard for anyone to find since it moved regularly. In fact, one could think they read every single room in the factory and still miss it somehow.

Madame Rose looked deeply concerned. Far more upset than if she had actually been told that one of the inhabitants of the factory had died. Willy merely hummed as he pushed the transparent button for the Reverse Engineering Room where he had told Mr. Bucket he would pay him a visit. The sooner he got this over with, the sooner he could fulfill his promise to Charlie that he'd return to the Invention Room. That's where his mind really was. It sure did take a lot of materials and a long time to cook things at the edge of eternity. Pesky business.

--scene change--

--scene change--

Another soul was facing an oblivion of his own. Mr. Bucket opened bleary eyes to the sight of a blindingly white light. Was this it then? Had he died? A soft sound of clicking heels let him know that at the very least there was a floor and he wasn't alone. His mind focused on the sound of beeping medical equipment as well. Heaven probably didn't have those things. He tried to move but found it exceedingly painful and impossible to accomplish. A weary groan escaped his narrow lips.

Tilting his eyes down and to the side, he could see a slim torso in a crisp, white garment rather like a medical attendant's uniform. A gloved hand trailed down his unmarked left arm that was paralyzed by restraints. When his eyes caught sight of a large, pointed needle aimed for his vein, he looked back up again to avoid seeing it sink into his skin although he could still feel the exacting prick. The engineer could now make out an operation lamp; the source of the glaring light hovering above his head, in the otherwise heavily shadowed room. He could also feel the unforgiving, cold, hard surface of a table beneath his form. His voice sounded quite woozy as he tried to focus on the figure near to him, "W-wot are..you doing? Where..am I?"

He could barely make out the fuzzy image of dark hair in a bob under a pointed white hat with a red cross on it. A _full-sized_ nurse? Where had she come from? Where were the Oompa-loompas? Still unfocused, he fantasized that it could be his wife's brown tresses in the get-up. A drugged feeling kicked in, "Mmmm…"

"Now, now, you need to rest." Said a sweet, high-pitched voice.

The sound of it came from the foot of his bed this time. He tilted his eyes downward as much as he could, his head was being held in place by something as well. The back of the nurse's figure came into view as well as an extremely short skirt that allowed her black underwear and garter belt to show. What sort of hospital was this? He must be delirious. That's what he got for sneaking a peek at those adult magazines that his father brought home from work. The slim figure turned around and as it approached again, he caught sight of the stockings. They were dusty purple and made of latex. Of all things, he thought. The last two, bright red buttons, on the short uniform were undone giving view to the front of the undergarment. He found his eyes transfixed there, trying to discern something within his limited frame of sight. Were the shadows playing a trick on his eyes or was something out of place?

A few restraints were tightened as the body leaned over him. His other arm was hidden in shadow and he felt grateful for that. Something told him that he wouldn't like what he saw. Especially since he still couldn't feel a thing. A plunging neckline on the uniform was forced into view. He saw a white collar around the throat with another red cross. Unable to use any part of his body, his eyes wandered lower as the figure hummed a giddy tune. The light cast a shadow down a sensual crevice on the cream colored chest. However, it moved away too quickly for his modest imagination to decide what to make of it. Again, his sleepy gaze lowered to the groin of the figure.

He heard an amused giggle followed by, "Naughty boy."

This scene wasn't making sense. "A-are you a private nurse or something?"

"Well, I'm a nurse whose privates yer tryin' tah look at. Does that count?" The figure had slipped one long, sculpted leg onto the table and over his body. The latex squelched as the entire figure came to rest on top of him in a straddling position.

At this point, he could see by the parting of the short material and tight underwear that it was definitely a male person dressed in female clothes. A thought finally dawned on him, a very disturbing one. Slowly his heavy lids rose to meet the face and white smile that he had been petrified to see. As soon as his charcoal eyes met those lavender ones, he shut them tightly and let out a scream.

The plastic coated hands stroked his face. When his protests didn't cease, the sharp sting of a slap whipped across his cheek. The shock of it made the Englishman suddenly quiet.

As the dexterous hands started to stroke his face again, he heard the voice say gently, "No need tah get so bent outta shape. I'm only tryin' tah make you feel better."

He was surprised by his own pause at the words and gesture. He had never been in a situation like this and most certainly had never viewed any man this way before. The floating sensation washed over him again. Heavy breaths accompanied his stare up and down the androgynous form. The length of the legs running into stacked high-heeled boots, the illusion of hips rising to a nipped-in waist, long gloves that ran up to short cuffed sleeves, bright red lips curled into a Mona Lisa smile. Had his boss always been this pretty? This was very confusing on a lot of levels.

"Thaaat's better. After all, ya don't want tah bite the hand that feeds you, Mr. Bucket." A musical sigh accompanied the man sliding off his form again. "But I know I'm not what ya truly want. Don't worry, I know what will _really_ make you feel better."

Wonka snapped his fingers into the air and a smaller form in a similar nurse's uniform eagerly came to also stand at his bedside.

"After all, it always makes me feel better too." He giggled. The man gave a quick kiss to the petite figure before lifting it up and onto Mr. Bucket where his larger form had been resting a moment ago.

"Hi, Dad." Said a simple, cheerful voice as he sat spread-legged across the Bucket father's pelvis.

"…Ch-Charlie..?" The child looked like an adorable little girl in the tiny, form-fitted candy-striper ensemble. He barely recognized him. Somehow the chocolatier had gotten his son into an even more objectionable set of clothes!

The boy laughed and leaned over to give his father a lingering kiss on the mouth, then pulled up and perched himself back into his provocative position; a featherweight, like the rest of his skin and bones of a family.

After a second of hesitation, Mr. Bucket managed to state with some effort, "Sweetheart…that's not the right way…to kiss your daddy."

"But I love you." Shrugged the boy. Then nonchalantly added, "I love you as much as I love Mr. Wonka and he likes it when I do that."

The thin man's cheeks flushed as he turned to glare at the chocolatier beside the singular bed. He knew it! But he couldn't do anything about it in this position.

"Show him what else I taught ya." Stated the faceless figure that had stayed right next to the unforgiving, encasing bed.

"Go 'head, make yer papa _real_ happy. He deserves it." The gloved hand had reached over to stroke the hair that peeked under the child's cute, pointed hat. An endearing dimpled smile leaned pet-like into the man's touch.

Charlie pressed his hands back to press against the cool table and began grinding his compact bottom back and forth into his father. It was then that Mr. Bucket realized how thin the material of his cotton gown was; the pattern made up of tiny squiggled W's. Even worse, the boy had put his fingers under the edge of the gown and was working it upward where he was certain no underwear would be found.

It took the Englishman a moment to recover from the sensation to finally shout, "Charlie! Stop..ah…stop that immediately!"

"Why?" He said very puzzled with a wide-eyed expression. "I can tell you're enjoying it."

The boy started to move slowly again and panted, "And so am I."

The man was disgusted with his own involuntary physical reaction. The rubbing was so centralized under the small, firm muscles and tight crevice that he couldn't help it. Staring in disbelief at the spectacle, he caught the sight of a small pink bow that rested on the boy's lace-trimmed panties under the ultra mini-skirt. From the small tenting in the shadows of the white silk, he could tell that the child _was_ enjoying it. The man's objections didn't sound very convincing even to himself, "Mmn..no..ah..son...stop…"

A familiar giggle came from the side of the bed as cheerily it stated, "See Mr. Bucket? We have _so_ much in common. Although _yer_ sin is even _worse_ than my own!"

A full, wicked laugh broke the sound of reluctant groans.

"Uh..no…no…NOOOO!" The sound of his shouting struck his own ears as his eyes flew open. He let out a huge gasp.

…It had only been a dream.

A ghastly one!

The room he was truly lying in was dim, but not as heavily shadowed as the one in his nightmare. He relaxed slightly and turned his previously straining head to the side, pleased to see that he could actually do that, until a new awful vision crossed his sight. It was the half-melted face of an over-sized chubby puppet.

"AHH!" He shouted again. He'd be grey before the night was through at this rate!

Looking about the room, he was surrounded by lifeless plastic patients in similar disturbing states. This was the Puppet Hospital & Burn Center Room, a room that defied any sensible logic known to man. Mr. Wonka was more concerned with these lifeless objects from his heyday than he was for any of the other golden ticket winners.

Attempting to move more, he saw that he was indeed tied to a bed, but a foamed cushioned one that was form fitted to his body. His restraints were more typical medical ones as opposed to leather rope and the white cotton pajamas that he was dressed in were far less revealing than the backless gown of his dreams. A clear glass bubble covered his entire form and he realized that the sound of medical equipment hissing and beeping was real. It must have seeped into his subconscious along with some of the other sensations that got warped there.

There was a light tapping on the other side of his glass chamber. He looked and saw something else that made him want to scream but resisted. It was Willy Wonka.

Gloriously overdressed, NOT in a nurse's uniform, he stood with his arms crossed and a plaintive look on his sculpted features as he looked down upon the paralyzed patient. A distant, alien look was in the man's gem-colored eyes. "Sounds like yer havin' a rough night."

Mr. Bucket stayed silent and shoved away the remnants of his dream. Why did he feel like the chocolatier could practically read his mind?

The man continued, as he surveyed the readings on the side of the medical device., "I'm glad yer awake though. I told the family I'd stay on the lookout until ya came about. After all, it's my fault right?"

He had expected Mr. Wonka to do everything _but_ take responsibility for this. Long, slim eyebrows tilted upward and he parted his mouth open to speak. The sound of his British voice was quickly absorbed inside the device.

However, the chocolatier had been easily able to read his lips. In an eerily calm and pleasant voice he responded, "Don't worry, they're all honky dory. I'll be sure to take super duper care of them until yer better."

He didn't like the ominous sound of that statement, no matter how pleasantly the man said it. When _was_ he going to get out of here? Mr. Bucket looked where his left arm was inserted slightly past its elbow into a pill-shaped, sleek white pod that was attached to the inner wall of the bed. He spoke, his muffled voice getting absorbed again.

Wonka understood every word despite having complained so ruthlessly toward Mike TeeVee during the tour. He replied in a tone that would make one think that the engineer was both hard of hearing and in kindergarten, "Yer inside an _oxygen chamber_. It maximizes tissue reconstruction and preserves cells. Yeah. I got the idea for it back in the eighties."

He mused in an exaggeratedly forlorn voice, "That arm might be a goner though."

Water welled up in the man's eyes as he looked back at the place where his arm was inserted. How would he be able to live with only his left arm?

"Oh, stop fretting. I'll think of somethin' tah fix it. You know me and my imagination. Only fair since you saved my Oompa-loompa." The voice sounded less-than-grateful though. More like frustrated. Indeed Willy Wonka's mind had been desperately analyzing this entire situation since he'd learned it happened. It felt like fate messed up big this time. Fate wasn't supposed to do that, especially where his chocolate factory was concerned.

Mr. Bucket looked up with uncertainty at the man while he seemed to be lost in deep thought. His health now depended on a candy maker that he kept suspecting of lunacy! He'd have to try hard to believe in the misunderstood genius of Grandpa Joe's tales.

The chocolatier's eyes widened as he refocused, he said brightly, "Anyway, you should get some more rest!"

He pushed a button on the side of the oxygen chamber and a hissing noise was made. Mr. Bucket found himself hopelessly groggy again as the last words filled his ears, "No matter what it takes Mr. Bucket, we're gonna _nurse_ ya back to health."

--scene change--

--scene change--

Back inside of the cottage, the rest of the family was also sedate but not morose. The ones who seemed the most inconsolable were Charlie and Mr. Wonka.

Mrs. Bucket looked at the two of them moping and said, "At least have some soup boys. It's tomato alphabet, Willy. That's your favorite. I even added extras of the **W**'s, **B**'s and **C**'s."

"Thanks Misses **B**." Wonka said with a mild amount of mirth. His heir's mother looked incredibly beautiful tonight for she was wearing one of the Victorian frocks that Pierre had designed for her. She had been in the middle of trying them on when the news had reached her. All of the family had paid the father a visit, but he was still unconscious at the time. Willy pushed his own initials near a pair of Charlie's and swallowed the spoonful of bright red liquid.

"Please stop blaming yourself, Mr. Wonka. We all know it was an accident." Stated Grandpa Joe in a deeply compassionate voice.

"The Oompa-loompas said he did it to save one of them. My son _chose_ to do this because he's an honorable person." Added Grandpa George with pride. His wife, Georgina nodded in strong approval.

"And you're giving him the very best medical treatment in the world." Said Mrs. Bucket in her usual cheerful voice.

"That's more than the toothpaste factory would have done." Grandma Josephine felt compelled to say. It was a true statement despite anything else she was uncertain of. The Buckets had made it through hard times with unity, despite their playful discords among each other.

Wonka gave a very weak smile to them all. Tonight he was sitting next to Charlie upon the boy's request. The headband was currently tied around the child's hand, crisscrossed through his fingers and wrapped twice around his wrist. He was pulling tightly on the black strip of fabric and the skin near it had gone pale with blood loss. The chocolatier had also noticed that the boy had spelled out a sentence in his bowl, it read: **I**-**T**-**S** / **M**-**Y /** **F**-**A**-**U**-**L**-**T**.

The chocolatier took a very small nibble of the freshly baked honey wheat bread, as a distraction, while he rearranged letters in his own bowl (making the best of missing a couple of letters): **U**-**N**-**P**-**O**-**S**-**S**-**I**-**B**-**L**-**E**.

There was a pit of darkness inside the child's soul, but somehow Willy Wonka had managed to cheer him up a drop by mimicking the secret method of communication. Although a smile did not appear on his face, it did frown less. The boy concentrated and spelled out: **I** / **W**-**A**-**S /** **M**-**A**-**D** /**A**-**T** / **H**-**I**-**M**.

His benefactor pointed into his bowl with a subtle turn of his eyes, giving the same answer in response to the new statement.

Grandma Josephine leaned over to see exactly what was going on. But before she could comprehend what was in Charlie's soup, Willy took a big spoonful out of the child's bowl and mixed up all the letters in the process.

When the family looked at him a bit startled for having done that, he gave a single chuckle and said, "He got more **W**'s than me."

His childish response actually produced a mild amount of laughter at the tense table.

He swallowed down that spoonful as well, wishing he could have caught a taste of his heir mixed within the ingredients, but that was 'unpossible' since the boy hadn't taken one sip or bite of anything. At least he knew that the child's new team made sure that he'd eaten a very big lunch. Seeing the boy hurting was the only true bad part of this situation for him. It made him wonder how it would have impacted the child if the father had actually died. He still had a lot to learn by way of family ties.

"Um, you look very lovely tonight, Mum." Charlie said trying to offer a distraction from Mr. Wonka's poor table manners.

"Really? Do you think so? I feel a bit like a sow's ear in a silk dress." She said humbly and pulled at the ruffles near her neckline. The Goddess necklace rested on the outside of the garment's high neckline.

"Not at all. The ivory color really suits you." Said her father, Grandpa Joe.

"Ya look like a fine lady." Said the chocolatier with a polite round-cheeked smile that reminded Charlie of when he got a quick spanking earlier.

Just like her son, a rosy color filled Mrs. Bucket's cheeks at all the compliments. She put her hands to her face to cover the embarrassment.

Grandma Josephine had been relieved to see that such elegantly reserved outfits had been the man's choice of aesthetics where her daughter was concerned. "You know wot would be a nice addition dear? Why don't you wear that old marriage ring of yours?"

A silence fell across the table.

"Oh. Oh, yes. That's a wonderful idea." Mrs. Bucket stood up to fetch the item.

Wonka looked thoroughly confused. "But you guys aren't married. Not in any records that I ever found."

Charlie's jaw dropped open.

Both pairs of grandparents looked mortified.

"Is that true?" The boy looked at his family in utter disbelief.

His mother rushed over to him, "Darling, it cost a lot of money to get married in England. We couldn't afford it, but in our _hearts_ we're married."

"Oh." Added Mr. Wonka. "I thought it was because you two were first cousins."

Grandpa George glowered at him, "No point in having secrets when you're around, is there blabbermouth?"

The chocolatier looked a tad offended. "Don't get miffed at me for bein' a thorough researcher. Hey, I had tah know all about who was winning my golden tickets. Particularly when they ended up in my home!"

He looked down at his startled heir, "Sorry, I didn't mean to spill the beans, but didn't ya think it was a little weird that yer whole family had the exact same last name? I did, but it isn't a big deal. Royalty did it all the time."

"Sweetheart?" His mother said nervously, her angular features gentle as always.

Charlie stared at them blankly. So this was what Wonka had meant on their boat ride when he suggested that all family's had secrets…even his. The boy gave his mentor a look of sad gratitude for having broken the truth to him. He lowered his shoulders and tilted his head downward, "It's all right. I guess a lot of things aren't always what they seem. Wot's really important is that you love each other and that's wot really makes a family anyway. That's why Mr. Wonka is part of our family even if he isn't related, right?"

"Of course, honey. Of course." She kissed him on the top of his head and gave him a maternal hug to her bosom for his understanding.

Willy was deeply satisfied to have managed to play another card in his massive plan correctly, especially considering the lousy hand he got dealt earlier. What was he supposta' do with that pair of two's in his burn unit? Fortunately he always kept a Joker up his sleeve and everyone knew that Jokers were wild in his factory. Now it was time for one of the straight flushes that he'd been waiting for.

"Ya know…" He started wryly, a familiar twinkle in his eyes. "The Oompa-loompas are gonna have one of their lunar festivals soon and I'd love to make you guys the _guests of honor_ since it'll be the first one since you've been here."

The family looked around at each other and Wonka added another thought, as if he'd just had it, "Tell ya wut. I'll see to it that the two of you get a _proper_ marriage at the event. How's that sound?"

Charlie's face beamed for the first time that evening. He gripped the man tightly, "Oh, Mr. Wonka you're the most wonderful person!"

The chocolatier gave the appearance of being entirely overwhelmed by the boy's words and actions. How he had been missing his touch and smell. Charlie was his new favorite candy. Mmmm…Charlie candy? Heir cream? He started to giggle and wrapped his arms around his young lover. Savoring that he could do it without the blasted observations of Mr. Bucket around to make them self-conscious.

"I don't know if I want my daughter getting married at some _Moon festival_." Said Grandma Josephine, ruining the chocolatier's inner humor.

"Isn't that better than no marriage at all?" Countered Grandpa George.

"There won't _be_ a marriage if Mr. Bucket isn't there." The old woman snapped in anger.

Wonka gave her a sour look and clutched his heir tightly, "Then I'll just hafta' see to it that he is, won't I? In fact, I'll make sure he's _better_ than he ever was!"

Charlie looked up at him with utter gratitude. The man's eyes were positively sparkling with a brilliant idea. He heard him whisper in a distant voice, "…yeah. Better than he ever was."

All of the dishes were being cleared away and the night wore on. Charlie was cleaning up and changing into his nightclothes (now that he had some). Wonka sidled up to Grandma Josephine in her chair by the fire, leaning his elbow on the mantle. She had been resting her eyes and yelped when they opened to his silly grin and sleek posture near the open flames. Undaunted by her shock, he blurted out, "Have ya tried the fragrance that I made for you yet?"

She pulled her yarn shawl more tightly around herself. "No, not yet. Wot does it do again?"

"Ah, ah, ah, nice try Grandma, but ya gotta get up pretty darn early in the morning to outfox this fox. I _didn't_ say. You hafta guess." He wiggled his eyebrows and broadened his porcelain grin.

"Has anyone ever told you that you bear a distinct resemblance to the Cheshire cat?" She said while digging through her pockets for the vile.

"Actually, I get a lot more of the Mad Hatter, but I _can_ purr." He proceeded to demonstrate his remarkable ability to do exactly that, even adding a couple of very convincing 'meows'.

Grandma Georgina stopped knitting the small blue poncho that she was still working on. She announced, "I think the cat wants to be let out."

Wonka replied, "Don't worry Gina, I _already_ let it outta the bag."

Everyone smiled in reluctant amusement.

The old elf-faced woman continued with her knitting, content that the imaginary cat was taken care of. She began doing the type of thing that her job encouraged her to do, muttering rhymes: "Bag, Baggins, hag, Hobbits, sag, saggy, lag, flag…."

"Fag." Added her husband with a laugh.

Wonka raised an eyebrow in his direction.

"Wot? I meant the fire. Nothing like a nice raging faggot." The man was fancying word games himself since his wife started them.

The chocolatier smirked at his effort, not offering an affirmation or objection, and focused back on Grandma Josephine who had finally produced the crème colored small vile labeled Vanilla Envelopes. She misted it upon herself. It smelled absolutely delicious; like lying in a veritable field of vanilla beans. Her mind was a complete blank, 'enveloped' in the sugary fragrance.

Wonka studied her carefully and placed the books that he had been holding behind his back into her lap. "Ah, Yer husband told me that you'd been curious to read about Paganism. I sure would like that. Here are some books from my library. Enjoy them, savor _every_ word, 'kay?"

He carefully stepped away from her as she slowly looked down and picked up the first one. Turning toward the rest of the family who was nearly done cleaning up and settling down, he stated. "Um, are you guys sure you don't want me to watch Charlie tonight. I got a room he'd _never_ be able to sleepwalk out of."

It was true that Mrs. Bucket was far more trusting of the chocolatier than her husband was. She was a kind and simple woman who believed in the goodness of others, but something about Charlie spending a night far away from her and his grandparents made her maternal instincts grow especially protective. "Thank you for the offer, but I'll stay up and watch him. I feel a lot better since you had the Oompa-loompas build a picket fence around the chocolate river this afternoon. Too bad it wasn't there when Augustus was visiting."

"Uh, Yeaaah. Too bad about that." The man pondered what else he could do in order to stay close to his heir if only for a little longer. This was the second time Mrs. Bucket (or should he say Miss?) had refused his offer. He knew better than to push it. Thinking back on his remarkable day with the boy he got a struck with inspiration. "Howsabout I tell him a bedtime story before I go? That'd be OK, right?"

Wonka's eyes darted back and forth. No one voiced any objections. In fact it sounded quite thoughtful and family-like of the awkward man.

Climbing up into the boy's room after the family had wished him a good night. A wide grin spread onto his face. He whispered, "Hey there."

"Hey yourself." Whispered back the boy, uncertain but excited by the situation. Under the sheets, he pulled at the fabric wrapped around his hand.

The chocolatier looked through the hole in the floor and saw his mother's curious eyes peeking up as she dried a plate. He sat down on Charlie's bed and began, "This is the story of The Dragon and The Mouse. Once upon a time, long, long ago there was a small _mouse_ with…_chestnut_ brown colored fur."

Charlie's dimples poked inward as he touched his own chestnut brown colored hair.

"So, this Mouse was out in the cold snow of winter lookin' fer something to eat when a terrible blizzard struck. Seein' no other choice, he wandered into the _forbidden_ cave that all the creatures had told him was dangerous. A very curious Mouse, was he! 'Cause even though he knew it was supposta' be dangerous, he was often snooping around it anyway."

Wonka continued, "Creeping in, the small chestnut mouse found skeletons lying around the entryway. It scared him half tah death and he almost left! But the storm picked up even worse and he was forced to stay inside and scurry around all of those old bones and empty skulls to get _deeper_ into the lair."

Willy kept using all of his animated features and gestures to the best of their abilities to convey the words he was speaking. The Bucket child loved every second of it and had pulled his covers up over his mouth and nose as Mr. Wonka went on about the skeletons.

"The Mouse found the cave nice and toasty though. And insteada gettin' darker, it seemed to be getting brighter as he headed toward the main room. Did the monster have a lamp? He thunk. And then, it happened…" Wonka thrust his face right up in front of Charlie's. "..he met, THE DRAGON!"

"It was staring right at him with piercing snake eyes and a hundred sharp, gleaming white teeth. Scales that reflected all shades of green, red, and purple shimmered around his face and down his long body while a wispy trail of smoke curled out of his nostrils. The Dragon spoke in a deep, dark voice. He said:

"_**I will allow you one question. Shoot."**_

Those words sounded awfully familiar to Charlie. Very similar to one's the chocolatier had used on the Great Glass Elevator as they headed toward his bedroom. He said doubtfully, "The _Dragon_ said 'shoot', Mr. Wonka?"

"Uh, yes he most certainly did. Where you there? I thought not. Whose tellin' this tale anyhow?" The man cleared his throat while Charlie giggled, preparing to do more animal voices, "Anyway, the little guy thought he was cooked fer sure. So he asked the question in his tiny beating heart:

_Why did you kill them all, Mr. Dragon?_

_**Because they came to hunt me and hurt me**_.

Hearing this, The Mouse dared to ask a second question,_ All of them? None of them just wanted to be friends?_

Without hesitation and with pain in his voice, the mighty Dragon answered that question too.

_**They only pretended to be my friend to get my gold and treasures. None of them really liked me.**_

The chestnut colored Mouse honestly felt pity for the massive lizard.

_Oh, that's very sad. I don't want anything from you, Mr. Dragon. I was only looking for a warm place to sleep for the night. If you let me leave, I'll never bother you again._

The Dragon was so surprised by the Mouse's honest compassion that he started to let him go.", Mr. Wonka tilted the brim of his hat down.

Charlie let out a sigh of relief. He'd been a little worried about the chestnut Mouse with the tiny voice and English accent. Mr. Wonka continued with a foreboding tone, "Then, The Dragon changed his mind:

_**Wait.**_

The little Mouse said his prayers. He knew it was too good tah be true that the beast would let him leave alive. The Dragon leaned down and examined him with an eye bigger than his whole body.

_**You're much too small to hurt me, aren'tcha?**_

_Th-that is t-true, Mr Dragron, s-sir._

_**And you are much too tiny to steal more than a gold coin or a single gem.**_

_I wo-wouldn't even do THAT your greatness!_

The Mouse thought that he started to understand what the mythical reptile was gettin' at. But just tah be sure, he squeaked:

_And I wouldn't even be enough meat to get stuck in between your sharp teeth._

Then The Dragon let out a mighty roar, but he wasn't mad. He was laughin'!

_**Oh my, do you know how long it's been since I laughed?!**_

_No sir. How long?_

The Dragon got a weird blank look on his face all of a sudden.

…_**I can't remember…perhaps it was shortly after I hatched…little Mouse, I invite you to stay inside my cave.**_

_But I have nothing that I can offer for your kindness. No gold, or silver, or even copper. I only have my gratitude and my company._

All around the Dragon was a great horde of possessions that men would travel the Earth for until the end of time. They shined like fire and candlelight, but they were cold and silent. And none of it could buy wut the tiny forest creature offered so freely. All of The Dragon's treasures had bought him only trouble and jealousy. He turned back to the mouse and said:

_**That is more than enough dear Mouse, for it can get very lonely bein' a ferocious Dragon.**_

Looking at his new friend, the fuzzy little guy realized how different they were, for he had no magnificent metallic scales, or razor sharp claws, or _ginormous_ webbed wings. He said:

_It's not easy being a mouse either, sir. Everything wants to eat you or step on you._

He looked around the large and very full cave, _Where may I sleep?_

The Dragon replied, _**You may sleep by my side if you wish, for there no harm shall ever come to you.**_

The chocolatier had laid his torso next to Charlie's and put his own arm around the boy. "The Mouse slept most soundly, cradled in The Dragon's long tail that was wrapped up toward his warm breath. And that is how a very unlikely set of bedfellows met each other. The ever lovin' end."

Unbeknownst to the entire family, the two kissed each other intimately on the lips.

"Stay." Whispered Charlie, as The Dragon had to The Mouse.

"I can't." The man answered in the same hushed tone, "I'm really very tired and it's important that I sleep in my own bed tonight. I'm _safe_ there."

Charlie lowered his eyes and thought about his friend's giant bed, the set of small furniture, the strange markings on the floor, the presents, and all the strange, wonderful things in The Forbidden Room. "Can I visit your room again tomorrow?"

Wonka's face brightened. "Hmm, it _does_ seem like we should spend some time studying. You got a test comin' up, don't cha?"

The boy nodded as the man stood up with a small grunt. "Tomorrow. I'll love ya tomarrow."

The Oompa-loompas had done a production of Little Orphan Annie shortly after the family arrived. Willy smiled and added, "It's only a day away."

When he reached the bottom of the ladder he was surprised to see all of the Buckets (except Grandma Josephine) gazing at him with an overflow of compassion. They had all been silent as mice themselves in order to eavesdrop. He suddenly felt and looked incredibly uncomfortable.

"Oh Willy, that was so, so beautiful. Wherever did you hear that tale?" Mrs. Bucket was gazing up at him with tears in her eyes.

"Err, I..made it up. Just now, actually." Great uncertainly and a strangled giggle followed the confession.

They all murmured their amazement, careful not to disturb the resting child.

"Genius. I keep telling you the man's a genius. There's nothing he can't do. He'll have our family back together lickity split. You'll see." Encouraged Grandpa Joe.

"I wonder if there's such a thing as _too_ smart." Joshed Grandpa George.

"There isn't." Assured the candymaker as he replaced his coat and cane.

"Sweet dreams folks." He tipped the satin top hat, as he placed it onto his head, and stepped out the front door.

**Author's Notes**

**Please excuse the very tacky "—scene change--" markers, but with FFN's oddly strict rule policies regarding grammar…I can't space things out as I would like to more subtly indicate such things. **

**For those who don't realize it, this entire tale has been named and inspired by a Michael Jackson song called "Is It Scary". The poignant lyrics and rhythmic beats of that song touch me deeply. It is off his dance album, ****Blood On The Dance Floor**

**The list of ingredients for one of Wonka's most secret (and bizarre) recipe is practically the same as it appears in the book, ****Charlie and The Great Glass Elevator**

**Blame the talents of AndreAla-Rae for the inspiration of Mr. Bucket's dream. Although I'm not particularly obsessed with cross-dressing, the idea of Wonka in a nurse's uniform kept showing up in my imagination after I saw this: www(dot)deviantart(dot)com(backslash)view(backslash)25133761(backslash) or just check out all of "andreala-rae" work on Deviant Art and tell 'em I sent you. wink**

**This and I'm a huge fan of Stephen King, particularly his book & movie titled ****Misery****. Something "sprung" from there as well.**

**I don't really need to tell you where Mr. Wonka got his idea for an **_**oxygen chamber**_** back in the 80's, do I? More homage to the King of Pop.**

**To Livejournal user (and Deviant Art fiend), Marama-tsg - I found a place for the "Heir Cream"! Blame her for that joke folks! LOL! (I can write cyber speak once in a while, right?)**

**Wonka made references to Poker with **_**a pair of two's**__**Joker's wild**_**, and his **_**straight flush**_**. Wonka and playing cards belong together like Alice and her Wonderland. With his odds of luck, who wouldn't be a gambling man?**

**As far as Mr. Wonka and I know, we invented this specific children's story about ****The Mouse and The Dragon****, but there is a song (that I've never heard) with that same title. **

**For the record, 'ginormous' is not a word, but it should be. **

**Special thanks to Livejournal user piscaria, who gave a magnificent review for the last chapter, is writing an amazing story herself called "Distance Makes the Heart" (here on FFN & Livejournal), and is also an all around swell person. I got a lot of inspiration from her dedication to her own writing. **

**REVIEWS ALWAYS WELCOME! NO SUCH THING AS LATE! **


	15. Volume 15 Warning!

**Title:** Is It Scary, Volume Fifteen (Wash Your Hands, Who Knows Where They've Been?!)

**By:** IDOL HANDS

**Rating:** Mature Demented Audiences

**Warnings:** For dramatic and adult themes, alternate Paganism, sex magick, mild bondage undertones, an _explicit_ under-aged/adult slash ('shota' or 'chan') relationship. This chapter is long and I mean that in more ways than one. Rated: X

**Disclaimer:** The characters portrayed are not my property but that of the estate of R. Dahl, Tim Burton, Freddie Highmore and Johnny Depp. Much love to them all. A mention of a Disney character & famous cookie elves also included.

**Summary:** Look out kids, get ready for lessons you may never forget! It's difficult to sleep with things that go 'bump' in the night lurking about. Many members of the Bucket clan get unexpected surprises, as do those of the _Wonka_ family. Mrs. Bucket seems to be out of sorts. Grandma Josephine is left to sort. And Charlie is sort of caught off guard. Will more secrets be revealed? Sort of.

"**Something Wicked this Way Comes."**

It was late. Hours had passed into the time well after night, but well before actual morning. Once again, the tapping of fingers disturbed Mr. Bucket's deep slumber.

Oh no, not again. He thought. I can't stand to look at him again.

The dreams hadn't improved much.

Instead, A different quirky voice met his ears. In an elfish tone he heard, "Mr. Bucket? Are you awake? Can ya hear me? The oxygen capsule says you're almost due for another pain killer so I thought maybe you could be roused."

The Englishmen was barely able to open his eyes, they felt like they had weights attached to them. The slit that he did manage to expose revealed a single Oompa-loompa, made visible in the night by way of his silvery jumpsuit coming into a blurry focus. It was one of the workers from The Reverse Engineering Room!

The twitch of a smile was on the little man's lips. "Hi there! My name's Loki and I wanted to offer my deepest gratitude to you for saving my life."

He crossed his arms and bowed.

The worker stood motionless for a second then whispered, "Gotta go now. Mustn't get caught."

And away the lone man scampered back down the main aisle of the room and out the floor-level entrance. If he wasn't so drugged, Mr. Bucket would have been more surprised, especially since he'd been led to believe that none of his crew spoke English in the first place.

Far away inside another part of the factory, an equally confused person lay. For once, Charlie Bucket thought he knew exactly how it must feel to be Willy Wonka. His mind was racing with wild thoughts and confusing emotions. He had been lying in his bed, awake, staring up at the hole in his ceiling _forever_, as in "a very long time".

All the usual noises of his night seemed irritating, overly amplified, instead of comforting: Grandpa George snoring like a bear, in between wheezing breaths of his Grandpa Joe's nose, the nonsensical mutters of Grandma Georgina. Thank goodness at least Grandma Josephine was such a sound sleeper! From the direction of his mother's breath, he could tell that she wasn't in her bed. It must be difficult to spend the night alone after so many snuggled up next to the man she loved. The boy sighed deeply after that thought. He didn't have a right to think he understood how that felt. He didn't. But…he was thinking that he felt like he did. Wasn't it wrong to feel this way? The old books said it wasn't. Mr. Wonka said it wasn't. Why did everyone else think so? While he didn't think it was right to keep secrets from the people you loved, he understood his hero's argument that it would 'upset them'. Why though? Why did it have to upset them? He comforted himself with the renewed notion that keeping it secret made it more _special_.

He sighed again, but in a different way. There was something that only he and Willy Wonka knew - nobody else in the entire world; that _was_ special. Besides, hadn't his family been keeping secrets from _him_ for the same reasons? Buuut…he didn't love _them_ any less. He didn't think of them as not being his Mum and Dad. Even though they thought those secrets were SO awful, it didn't really matter to him. Actually, he hated that they kept the truth from him more than the facts themselves. They had all worried for nothing. Maybe the way he and Mr. Wonka felt about each other was the same sort of a thing?

The crackles and poping of the dying fire sounded like fireworks to his sensitive ears. There also seemed to be more of a chill in the air than usual and his sheets felt itchy. He huffed, uselessly tossing around from one side to the other, then back again trying to find a comfy spot. I already _know_ where the 'comfy spot' is, he thought. And it smelled like a man made out of chocolate cologne, where a body and mind lay that was _overflowing_ with secrets which excited, amused, and scared him all at the same time. Maybe he could focus on the memory of that and try to 'relax' himself? Mmmn…no, that wasn't going to work this time. He wanted the real thing. The boy blushed at his own unintentional dirty humor. Great, now he was doing that even when Mr. Wonka _wasn't_ around. Oh, bugger this! This wasn't getting him anywhere and that person needed him just as badly.

Stepping down from his loft, in the middle of the night, suddenly seemed terribly risqué. He tiptoed past his mother who had fallen asleep on the job of watchman and lovingly studied her relaxed face in the pale blue light. Looking at her asleep in the chair, still dressed in her new gown, the boy felt great sympathy. She had stopped for a break cleaning up and passed out without even changing out of her clothes. Poor Mum, he thought. The woman had been up really early to make those pastries. It was worth it though, they'd impressed the chocolatier AND his new 'mini-team' of Oompa-loompas.

And then he heard it…a soft, melodious whinny.

The child pattered over to the nearly vertical front door and opened it as soundlessly as he could manage. There it was! This is NOT a dream, he insisted to himself. In the so-called 'witching' hours of the night, he stepped out into the sugar-dusted swudge, leaving small foot prints as he got closer to his goal, one hand timidly outstretched as before.

Only moments later, Mrs. Bucket felt a terrible draft. She wearily opened her eyes, then sprung to her feet as soon as the sight of the front door left wide open struck her. Charlie! Oh no, she'd fallen asleep! Expecting to see another horrible accident within the factory, instead her vision was filled with her child stroking the most magnificent white horse she had ever seen, real or imaginary. The mane and tail were long and silky, so silky that the strands shone silver in the unnatural moonlight and they moved slowly in some non-existent breeze causing an occasional lingering curl in its texture. And there was a horn…so help her, a singular golden horn curling from the middle of its forehead with eyes that reflected the exact shade in a garden of lavender blossoms. It was a creature of sheer poetry and ancient tapestries, of dreams and legends. It let out a hushed neighing as Mrs. Bucket drew closer.

Charlie turned around with a sleepy gaze in his eyes. He smiled mildly. "Mum. See, I told you the unicorn was real. I _told_ you…"

Mrs. Bucket was without words as she joined her son's side. The boy reached out and took her arm, pulling her toward where he was petting. If he hadn't done that, she'd never have found the nerve to do it herself. From the very moment that her fingertips touched the dense, smooth pony fur a glow from the contact began to travel up her form. She looked at the child in concern, but he was staring at the animal; one hand still connected to her, one stroking through the fine hair of the ethereally blowing mane. They were quite the vision: Charlie in his sheer nightgown, Mrs. Bucket in the Victorian ivory dress, the glorious steed, and all of them glowing with a soft white light as sugar snow fell upon them. The magnificent beast tossed its head back and let out a loud, high-pitched song of a whinny. It stomped one hoof that also appeared to be made of gold.

"She likes you." Charlie said.

"She?" Her dark fearful eyes focused on the animal's tranquil but studious gaze. The horse's large head turned to face her, the tip of its horn touching her own forehead.

"Holy Buckets!" A voice from behind them called.

Charlie turned and saw his Grandpa Joe squinting in his striped pajamas. The boy smiled again, pleased that another family member could see the vision. Unfortunately, when he turned back, the animal was gone! His mother stood transfixed, one hand outstretched, exactly as she had found her son. Only a fading glimmer of sparkles hung in the air before that too disappeared.

The boy frantically turned back around toward his grandparent, eyes fully awake, "You saw it though, right Grandpa Joe? You _saw_ the unicorn?!"

The old man blinked his large blue eyes and quivered his mouth uncertainly, "I-I can't see too well without my glasses Charlie, but I saw something, a bright glowing something that looked like a ghost."

"A ghost?" Mrs. Bucket turned, it nearly sounded like an objection.

"Or-or an angel." Grandpa Joe added.

"WOT in BLUE BLAZES is everyone doing up at this hour?!" Grandpa George had grumpily made his way out to join the group, eyes squinted nearly shut as he continued to shout. "Have you all become _VAMPIRES?!_"

"Well, I was…" Grandpa Joe started.

"The door was…" Mrs. Bucket started.

"We were watching the unicorn!!" Chirped Charlie, hands thrown triumphantly into the air.

That shut the old man up for a second. Then he championed back with, "Aaallright, let's say that you _were_ on a hunt for _imaginary_ animals. Then wot's Grandma Josephine doing up? Standing guard for _werewolves_?!"

Grandpa Joe's spindly legs rushed him back into the house as fast as they could. Followed very quickly by everyone else. Sure enough, there she was sitting by the cold fireplace reading.

"Dear?" Gently, her husband touched her shoulder.

"Mother Josephine, you'll catch your death sitting there without a fire!" Said Mrs. Bucket.

Charlie came up by her other side. Studying what she had been reading, he discovered that she was on the very last page of a very old and complex book; diagrams and hand-drawn illustrations decorated the yellowing paper. Disheveled upon the floor was a pile of the rest of the Pagan books that Mr. Wonka had pulled from his library. It appeared that she had gone through them all! The curly haired woman looked at her grandson and said with wonder, "Charlie, why didn't you tell me how _interesting_ all of this is?"

The boy could have sworn that he did, but he didn't argue, only smiled.

Finely lined lids blinked a few times and looked around. She seemed to be unaware of her own surroundings. "Where are the lights? Who put out the fire?"

A few more blinks and she got another level of her consciousness back, "Wot time is it?"

"Three in the bleedin' morning! Now lets all put a cork in it, go back to bed, and get some shut-eye before Georgina wakes up too." Grandpa George said as angry as one could sound in a hushed tone. Fortunately his wife was a very deep sleeper. She obliviously muttered something about The Keebler Elves fighting with Oompa-loompas, an image that gave everyone a quiet chuckle.

Charlie and his mother helped the older members get tucked back into their bed as they explained to Grandma Josephine what they were all doing up. "It's Wonka. I'm telling you, somehow _he's_ at the root of all this. That old sneak did something to _trick_ me into reading those books."

Grandpa Joe turned up his large grey brows, "But, you _said_ you _were_ going to read about his religion."

Grandma Josephine twitched her mouth, "..uh, that is…I…mean, not all in one NIGHT, I wasn't!"

The family members all shushed her outburst.

"Mr. Wonka doesn't have anything to do with the unicorn. I think it's here to see me." The boy said honestly.

"_She_, Charlie." Corrected his mother.

"Right. And now Mum and Grandpa Joe have seen her and they know it's real and beautiful and doesn't mean anyone harm."

He paused then bravely added, "Just like Mr. Wonka."

An annoyed throat clearing came from Grandpa George, "Well, I'M going to need my _beauty sleep_ if I'm going to compete with Merlin the amazing chocolatier tomorrow."

They all got quiet for real after that. Mrs. Bucket quickly changed as her son gathered up the Pagan texts. Before Charlie could make it to his loft, his mother touched his shoulder. She silently pointed to her own bed and made a praying motion toward him. It would be easiest to watch him for the rest of the evening from there and she could use the company, especially after two strange experiences in one night. The boy kindly acquiesced with a nod. And so, for the first time in a long time, mother and son spent the rest of the night cuddled up next to each other.

The woman was pleased to see the child pass out shortly within her warm embrace. Certain that the boy was resting, Mrs. Bucket allowed her own tired eyes to close and give in to the nocturne. Before her consciousness was completely gone, she heard Charlie quietly moan, "Mmm…Mr. Wonka."

--scene change--

--scene change--

There was no early morning rising to bake treats that day. However, insistent that something be special, Mrs. Bucket suggested that her son pick candy apples from their lawn that could be grated and sautéed with cinnamon and butter. That would spruce up their humble oatmeal and sausage!

While enthusiastically plucking supplies into the upturned edge of his _mother's_ apron (it fit better than Dad's, despite being frilly) he suddenly felt a good pinch rather far underneath his bottom.

"OW!" Exclaimed the boy as all the apples toppled into the swudge from the makeshift pouch. His hands reflexively gripped his stinging bottom as he turned around.

Willy simply wiggled his eyebrows with a broad grin, "Gotcha! Nice apron."

While Charlie was wearing more standard clothes today, the chocolatier was once again fancifully dressed. Today his outfit seemed to be heavily influenced by the spontaneous bedtime tale from last night, for there were lots of greens, metallic accents, and patterns that resembled scales. His cane was its usual self.

The boy pulled in his lips and bugged his eyes, glancing back and forth over the expanse of the brightly colored room back to his lop-sided cottage, "Someone could've seen!"

"Not very likely. I just sent yer adorable little team in there tah do a performance." There was a glint in his eyes.

Today, his heir matched it. "Guess wot?"

"Chicken butt?" This was the man's standard rhyming answer to that question. Consistently followed by, "Know why?"

Charlie gave him a look and responded with the proper answer. "Chicken thigh. Stop footling about! This is triple dazzle news Mr. Wonka!! I saw the unicorn again last night!"

Before another smart-alec response could escape the chocolatier's lips, the boy hurried up with, "And so did Mom AND Grandpa Joe!"

His benefactor stood still, mouth agape. The sound of applause and Charlie's name being called broke up their conversation.

Mrs. Bucket raced outside. "Charlie! You said you had your own team, but you never said how _cute_ they were! Three of them had to stand on their shoulders to shake our hands and…"

She stopped mid-sentence and looked at Wonka, seemingly stricken by his appearance.

"Willy?" She said with distance in her voice.

"Yeah?" Kid-like uncertainty was in his.

The woman was wearing another one of the elegant garments that Mr. Wonka's personal tailor, Pierre, had created for her. It had a short jacket and plum accents that complimented the latest shade of her lips. It turned out that lollypop syrup _was_ staining. She glided over to him and stood an inch away with intensity in her eyes. Assuming the worst, deep concern suddenly swept over the chocolatier. Quite nervously he asked, "Mrs. Bucket is everything alright?"

"You…Your.." To his shock her hands were reaching up toward his face! He was grateful that at least she was wearing the matching cotton gloves that coordinated with the ensemble. As she laid her hands upon each of his cheeks, she completed the sentence, "..so handsome."

"Mum!" The child was surprised at how high his own voice shot up.

Mrs. Bucket looked like a bolt went through her and stared at the placement of her own hands, then at Mr. Wonka's horribly awkward expression. His voice even more shaken, he stated, "Why…thank you."

Her son couldn't take it a second longer and tugged stiffly at her sleeve, "Mum, you're embarrassing him!"

"I-I'm so sorry. I don't know what came over me." The apology ended up aimed at both parties. She immediately removed her hands. Before she backed up though, she smelled the air then looked back at Willy. A thoughtful look filled her face, but the mother didn't say anything. "Charlie, pick up the apples and we'll get on with breakfast."

She walked away, glancing back once in bewilderment.

"That was weird. Does seeing unicorns make people realize how good-lookin' I am? I hope Grandpa Joe doesn't do that." Willy assisted in picking up the fruit, keeping one to crunch into as they walked toward the house.

"Very funny, Mr. Wonka. I think Mum's under a lot of stress. That's all." At least he hoped that was all. "Last night she even had me sleep with—"

Charlie ceased to speak as his eyes caught Mr. Wonka surreptitiously licking the inside of the apple where he had bitten, his saliva and the sugary juices creating thin transparent threads of connection. After completing the provocative act, he tilted the bright apple toward his heir. "Go 'head, take a bite."

Grandma Josephine didn't waste a moment to confront the chocolatier, looking past her chewing grandson as he stared up at her. "You can keep this _brainwashing_ fragrance of yours, Willy. I won't be needing to read anymore of your heathen books."

He looked up and down her in a dismissive way, not offering a hand to receive the small atomizer. "Vanilla Fields causes happiness and elation, grandma. Funny you should take that fer brainwashing. And I'd rather be a _heathen_ than a _hypocrite_ any day."

"Now, now, neither of you have had tea or breakfast. No point arguing on an empty stomach, you'll only bite each other's heads off." Grandpa Joe spoke with a humorous tone in his voice. He stood between them both. "And if I'm not mistaken, Josephine DID say she enjoyed the books once she read them."

Wonka allowed the older gentleman to pull each of them into the house, arching one of his bold brows at Josephine. She glanced up at him only to be met with his lips mouthing the word "hypocrite". Her prune-like frown went unseen as he deliberately turned his eyes upward. She muttered, "Child."

All four of Charlie's team proceeded to do more acrobatics in order to provide the table with their bowl of new treats. In the interest of Raspberry Kites, they had been experimenting with berries, liquorices, and anise in various forms. A cluster of muffins, cookies, and small cakes was now added to the breakfast assortment. Wonka's heir bid them a grateful farewell as they bounced joyfully away, the older Oompa-loompas guiding their path back to the Invention Room.

The breakfast continued to go pleasantly and involved discussing the events of last night at great length. Grandma Josephine found that whether she liked it or not she'd become a bit of an expert on the subject. "It seems to me that our Charlie has triggered some sort of magick. It was probably from touching that athame knife of yours."

The boy was extremely surprised that his grandmother spoke so fluently about the subject. He also noticed how she used the same accent, or emphasis on 'magic', that Mr. Wonka and Madame Rose did. "Why did you say ma-gik with a 'k' like that, Grandma Josephine?"

Willy smiled and placed a huge scoop of candy-apple topping (with as little oatmeal as possible) into his mouth. He gave an amused look toward this old, but new pupil, on the subject. It would be rude to speak with his mouth so full.

Grandma Josephine gave him an annoyed look then reluctantly answered, "People who practice true spells, as opposed to slight of hand like stage magicians, started to use an extra letter 'k' at the end to denote the difference."

"And? What _number_ letter is that?" Said Wonka, followed by a bite of a snozzberry muffin that had been provided by Charlie's team.

"Seventy two?" Asked Grandma Georgina.

"Eleven." Answered George after counting on his fingers.

"Symbolic of hidden energies and thereby magick." Finished Grandma Josephine.

"Splendid. I couldn't have said it better myself!" The chocolatier dabbed at the sides of his mouth and took a sip of his tea. Adding yet another lump of sugar after tasting it.

"I also figured out why you used FIVE tickets." Stated the new expert on Paganism.

Mrs. Bucket had been very quiet, only staring entranced at Mr. Wonka. This comment finally provoked a vocal reaction, "Because it's the number associated with _harmony_ and _humans_? That's what you said in the Children's Only Room."

"It's also the number of points in a pentagram. You sir, tried to cast a spell using your candy didn't you?" Now _her_ brow was raised, though no hair could be discerned upon it.

The man grinned broadly. "And it worked! Isn't that sumthin'?! See, things _are_ related in the most unusual of ways if one only has the eyes to see it."

Everyone gave Grandma Josephine a look of amazement. The eldest Bucket woman was greatly uncertain as to how she should feel about her unwanted knowledge.

"I thought only virgins could see unicorns?" Grandma Georgina suddenly announced. Her lucid moments had a habit of occurring right after a subject had passed.

Dead silence filled the table along with a lot of uncomfortable fiddling.

Grandpa George just chuckled. "Yeah, who wants to explain that one?"

"I don't really think that's breakfast talk, especially around little Charlie." Answered Grandpa Joe.

Charlie WAS looking mortified, his eyes staring fervently at his food, but not for the reasons that his family would probably suspect.

"No, no, no, it's alright. Let's just, um, clear this up tactfully. Er…Christians _decided_ that one lost their innocence when they…" Wonka looked across the table and realized that no one would expect or want him to use certain phrases. His voice went up a pitch, "..got _married_. Pagans don't buy that jazz. Innocence is a way of being, not sumthin' ya loose having….a good time. That's why ya read about all sorts of people seein' unicorns before Christians took over and mucked-up the stories. Mmn-hmm. See? Simple as that."

A terrible strained giggle followed, then he put two large spoonfuls of food into his mouth, looking very doubtful about his own words. He never thought he'd discuss _that_ in front of everyone!

Charlie was looked at his mentor with an amused grin.

"Oh.." Grandma Georgina trailed off. Then started again. "I rather like that version. It means I could see the nice horsy, but George couldn't!"

George took her teasing in good nature. "No point in being ruffled. She's probably right. I'm no Saint! Besides, Wonka can't see it either. Guess you're not 'innocent' either, eh?"

The chocolatier shrugged and attempted to look amused with his mouth full of more oatmeal than he would have liked. Ick. Oatmeal - it was like consuming soup made out of cardboard to his hypersensitive taste buds. Still, it was worth it if it kept him from having to answer any more questions. Who knows why he hadn't seen a white horse with a horn sticking out of its head before? There could be lots of reasons for that. Yeah. He'd seen a mess of other strange animals that no one else had ever seen, including a uni_horn_. No big deal. So why was it starting to bug him?

"We should probably get going, huh Mr. Wonka?" The boy said while nodding at the same time.

"Mm? Mmn!" He made a large swallow. "Yes, yes, so much tah do and…wait, no, yeah! I got it right that time! So much to do and so little time tah do it!"

Another moment of "forever" had taken place while Charlie impatiently waited for breakfast to completely cease and goodbyes to be said. His mother paused before giving him a kiss on the cheek. She picked up his hands and studied them with scrutiny. Looking at the right one she said, "Your bruise is gone."

And it was. Previously covered by a plaster, the rather dark purple-blue blotch, where Wonka had struck him with the cane, was completely erased (along with a few other nicks and bite marks that his mother _hadn't_ seen).

Next she stared at his left one, tracing the golden band on his ring finger with her own.

Mr. Wonka got very nervous and pulled out his pocket-watch to focus on, whistling while he did so. The woman snapped out of her concentration, "Well, ah, off with you then. Be sure to learn lots of new things and remember that we want to hear all about them….even your Dad. You'll go say hello to him today even if he is sleeping, won't you sweetheart?"

Charlie nodded and ran off to catch up with his mentor who had already started to walk away.

--scene change--

--scene change--

The wait was worth it because this time the precarious trip to Wonka's Forbidden Room was much more fun! Prepared for the journey, the boy happily hung on to his mentor; arms wrapped around his shoulders and legs crossed over his middle as the man danced the coded steps. As they swung, bobbed, and tap-danced across the glowing tiles the two sang a duo; changing parts as they had practiced in the elevator. The playful tune had served as a great distraction from the haunting 'Minus Land':

_**Who can take a sunrise**_

_**Sprinkle it in dew**_

_**Cover it in chocolate **_

_**and a miracle or two?**_

_**The candyman**_

_**The candyman can**_

_**The candyman can cause he mixes it with love and makes the world taste good**_

_**Who can take a rainbow**_

_**Wrap it in a sigh**_

_**Soak it in the sun **_

_**and make a strawberry lemon pie?**_

_**The candyman?**_

_**The candyman**_

_**The candyman can**_

_**The candyman can cause he mixes it with love and makes the world taste good**_

_**Willy Wonka makes **_

_**Everything he bakes**_

_**Satisfying and delicious**_

_**Talk about your childhood wishes**_

_**You can even eat the dishes!**_

_**Who can take tomorrow**_

_**Dip it in a dream**_

_**Separate the sorrow**_

_**And collect up all the cream?**_

_**The candyman!**_

_**Willy Wonka can!**_

_**The candyman can cause he mixes it with love **_

_**And makes the world taste good**_

_**And the world tastes good cause the candyman thinks it should**_

Upon reaching the doorstop, Charlie leaned all the way back with his mentor's support, giving Madam Rose an upside down, "G'morning!"

She smiled in his direction. Immediately the boy noticed that there were slightly less lines on her face and dark grey stripes through her usually pure white hair. Her zebra patterned dress keenly accenting the new appearance.

Charlie simply stated. "You look different."

The tiny woman giggled. "Let's say I took my _vitamins_. Are you ready for your lessons today?"

"Sure! Absolutely! Are you going to uh, supervise us again?" The chocolatier had flipped him onto the obsidian doorstep at the seamless entrance.

"From a distance. I think The Rescuer and I have reached an understanding." She reached out and gripped the man's pant leg.

Wonka made a 'yikes' kind of face and decided to wait before he mentioned the whole unicorn incident to his personal advisor. So, that's where the pent-up magick went! He cleared his throat.

"Charlie, today I'm gonna let you keep yer eyes open. But ya gotta promise me two things. One, don't let go. Two, don't look back at me. Got it?" He placed his gloved hands upon the boy's shoulders from behind.

Utterly petrified but refusing to be denied what must be a thrilling experience he mumbled, "y-yes, sir."

"Wut was that?" Came a harsh re-questioning.

"Yes, SIR!" He shouted.

The sound vibrated off of all of the walls of the narrow hallway and gave the impression of having shattered them before they fell apart all together and spun into a swirling black tunnel. The tunnel grew larger and larger as streaks of color were added to the mix; too many images to comprehend flashed by, some very disturbing like giant insects, the heads of chickens being cut off, and the faces of the three candy makers who were Mr. Wonka's sworn enemies. Wind whipped wildly across them despite the fact that it felt like they were jumping in slow motion. He was so distracted by the velocity of the visual symphony that he forgot NOT to look at his mentor. For a fraction of second, he glanced down at the fingers that were still securely on his shoulders and could have sworn he saw long, hooked claws. Then without warning, all of the images stopped and they were inside the 'lair of the dragon'. As glorious and enticing as the first time he stood in it.

"Jiminy Cricket! Wot _was_ all of that?!" Charlie would have fallen down if Wonka hadn't steadied him.

"Stuff this room protects me from; my fears, my worries, my anger…myself." He said the last part once he'd walked to the intricately decorated table, piles of books, stacks of CD ROMS, and multiple writing boards that had been set up. He nodded toward his other guest as she descended up the stairs. "Madame Rose is gonna listen to my old collection of Victrola albums upstairs. Let's get started, shall we?"

Mr. Wonka really did make a surprisingly good teacher. There was a serious dose of nonsense, but it often added to the lesson. Today, for example, the chocolatier acted out as Sir Isaac Newton donning a curly white wig and having Charlie drop an 'Everlasting Gobstopper' on top of his head. The laws of physics made a lot of sense the way he explained them – the boy saw the point of them immediately, especially the one about a body staying in motion until something of equal or greater force slowed it down. That happened fairly frequently around the factory. Wonka was mindful to say that these were really suggestions that with far more practice and lessons he would show the youngest Bucket how they could all be overcome. However, he warned the boy that he probably oughtn't mention those notions to his regular teachers or classmates; it would only get him into trouble.

"But trust me, Isaac knew far more than he led on." The chocolatier's face became eager and his eyes widened. "He was an alchemist of the highest degree! My father followed ALL his work faithfully and found the texts that the church _never_ wanted the guy tah publish."

"Wot would've happened if he _had_ published them?" Asked his heir, naive as to why knowledge could be considered dangerous.

"_Be_-cause, the CHURCH woulda said he was 'wiggy', or as they called it _a heretic_, locked him up in a cold, dark, slimy jail and tortured him for the resta' his life! They might even have killed him!" Mr. Wonka's face had gotten menacing then inexplicably faded into thoughtful concern.

Charlie was now certain that he wasn't going to say anything about Newton's "Secret Laws" anytime soon, but he did want to know about them. Who wouldn't?

The lessons went on into math, but Wonka's heir was far above most boys his age in that category as well. Since the start of these sessions, the candy maker had begun algebraic concepts; explaining them like making a sandwich, that they all had a specific order for specific reasons. "Ya don't want yer mayonnaise and mustard on the _outside_ of the bread do ya? What good is a B.L.T. without the **B**? Or the **L**? Or the **T** fer that matter? So, you better do things in the right order! Otherwise you'll have a big mess on yer hands and we certainly don't want that now do we?"

Again, Charlie was informed that there were times when certain rules could be bent or ignored under certain circumstances. When the boy excitedly asked if he could know just a few tricks he was issued a common phrase, "All in good time. All in good time."

Willy Wonka believed that the study of music was integral to the understanding of mathematics. He had his heir practicing on several musical instruments, one of them being the pan flute (not bad for lip strength and air control either). Studying music would also help him understand the Oompa-loompas culture better. One fundamentally based on beats, music, and melodies. The people didn't even really have _words_ for things, only _sounds_ and gestures. It was their belief that naming things was fairly irrelevant anyway. Despite having named all of his workers, the chocolatier really liked far-fetched notions that questioned concepts of logic and reality, as we understood them. They usually gave poor Charlie Bucket a headache trying to comprehend them.

Today was no different; the boy's perfectly smooth brow had become a labyrinth of wrinkles by the time his mentor turned around from his second wipe-off board. A lecture on the psychology of music as it applied to language vs. the structure of traditional grammar. The man paused mid-sentence and frowned. His pupil looked like a dog expecting to be swatted with a newspaper. Mr. Wonka sighed and relented by saying, "Looks like it's time for a hot cocoa break".

Fortunately, he always kept a fresh thermos at the ready. He flipped up his coat tails and sat next to his heir for a respite, carefully pouring two steaming, thick cups of fluid.

"Spicy!" Announced the boy after a giant gulp. He fanned his tongue and looked baffled at the candymaker.

Mr. Wonka had taken an appropriate sized sip of his own after gently blowing the surface. "Of course my dear boy, you said ya wanted to try Madame Rose's recipe. This is how the old Oompa-loompas like it, with chili instead of sugar. It's exactly the same as the ancient Aztecs, with a splash of vanilla and a pinch of nutmeg. Oh, and with MY beans. Mind ya don't spill it on the doily."

Once the sting had worn off, Charlie tried a much smaller sip. Without the sugar, he could make out the subtle berry and nut flavors of the cocoa bean that his mentor had told him about. "Who are the Aztecs and why did they like _spicy_ chocolate?"

Willy plunked down his mug exasperated, "Who were the Aztecs?! Flying Fiddlesticks! They were people from Central America in the 16th century _and_ they were crazy for cocoa beans! The kings drank oodles of it! Heck, they used the beans fer money. I think they musta been related to Oompa-loompas. They liked chilies cause they made them sweat, helped them to stay cool in their hot climate, the volatile oils kill bacteria AND it opens up the pallet! Yeah. Too bad they didn't know the marvels of sugar. It took explorers to add that. What did they teach ya in that waste of a school of yers anyway?!"

"I dunno, sir." Charlie shrugged. He'd already been through the supposed failing state of his education several times. "The regular stuff. Wot did they teach you in yours?"

"I um…I didn't go to school after Dad…ya know. He home-schooled me after class and on weekends. Sorta' like I'm doin' with you, only I'm a lot more fun!" The man twirled the fanciful swizzle stick in his beverage. His expression had grown a bit sad despite the forced enthusiasm of the last statement.

"Then how did you get so smart?" The spicy cocoa was starting to grow on him now. Especially since he'd added a scoop of raw sugar to the mix.

A smile returned to Wonka's face after the flattery. "Well, I did read lots of books and I payed very close attention to the things that went on around me. That is, when I wasn't livin' in my imagination. I always had a knack for daydreaming and figuring things out."

He got a smug look on his face, "What I didn't know, I made up. And it turned out I was usually right!"

"But where did you live during all that time?" Charlie was still trying to get at that conundrum. Perhaps he'd open up today, now that they were 'closer'.

The features completely shifted again, like they were pulled by invisible strings or like more than one person lived inside of his body. Eyes turned down with both hands in his lap, the self-taught genius stated, "I don't want ya to think less of me Charlie, but you were really on tah sumthin' when ya said that you saw yerself in my eyes yesterday. How'd ya do that?"

"I guess it's because I care." The boy had released his mug as well and was leaning slightly over the table, trying to catch the telltale eyes again. "Please, Mr. Wonka, I won't think less of you. I _promise_."

There was a reluctant groan, then a pensive sigh, then a quick glance at his heir. "I got a job at the candy store in my neighborhood. I lied to the brothers who ran the place. Said that my parents were sick so they never asked questions. At…at night I secretly slept in their storage basement with the supplies…the rats and spiders and the damp, dark cold. I'd make believe I was in a magical candy forest. Guess that's where the idea for my Chocolate Room came from."

Emotion had drained from his mentor's face. It was not entirely unlike how he looked in the jungle of The Secret Ingredients Room. "How could I make friends with my secret life? Besides, I blamed myself fer not listening to Papa, er, Dad anway. No one wanted to know a weirdo brace-face like me anyway. Even you wouldn't."

"That's not true!" The boy had gotten up from his seat and forced Mr. Wonka to take his hand. "That's not true at all because…sometimes when I look at you…that's exactly who I see. A lonely little boy named, Willy."

The man looked him in the eyes, his posture had involuntarily turned away though he was allowing his hand to be cradled, "You don't…you couldn't."

"Yes I could. I saw this photo of you when you were young in your Dad's office and I thought THERE, that's who Mr. Wonka is, right there. And then you made sense and…I forgave you." Now Charlie had turned his eyes away.

"Forgave me?" There was both concern and annoyance in the tone.

"You took away my dreams when you left. I…I really hurt Mr. Wonka. I felt so empty and confused, but I couldn't hate you either and that hurt even more." A tear from the memory dropped from his eye.

Wonka was stunned. He'd never thought of it from Charlie's point of view and they'd never discussed it. That day was a sore point for both of them. Dozens of expressions shifted across his face. His voice was soft when he spoke again, "Oh. I felt the exact same way."

The ringing of the chocolatier's private phone interrupted them with his famous theme song, causing Mr. Wonka to bolt upright and release the boy's hand. He quickly strode over to the videophone by his bedside (another was upstairs), giving his usual unceremonious greeting. "Uh, Yep?"

The image of a nervous Grandpa Joe appeared. "Good morning sir, I'm so sorry to disturb you but I have a very important call on the line."

"Oh really? Who is it? The Queen? The Dali Lama? Elvis?" There was annoyance in his voice. It had to be someone that important, for the chocolatier truly hated to be disturbed in his personal quarters.

"No sir." The pleasant old Englishman said, "It's _Doctor_ Wonka."

It had come as a huge surprise to the family when Charlie told them that Mr. Wonka's father was alive, active and not eccentric in the slightest. This would be the first time his grandfather would have seen that for himself, hence the amazement in his raspy voice.

The chocolatier's own voice lost its rudeness and his entire body tightened, "Er, yes, uh, put him on please."

He glanced over at Charlie, hoping to catch his attention, but the boy was playing with one of the robotic cleaners in his mentor's room. Normally Mr. Wonka preferred privacy with his phone calls, so his heir had busied himself with the distraction. The flat, circular object was rotating over the rug under their study table. His attention was keenly focused on using his feet to trick the sensors into moving the automatic vacuum in various directions. The act seemed to amuse the child and watching him do it amused the candy maker.

"Willy?" Came a baritone voice. Of course he was wearing his usual full-length medical coat and matching white gloves, the plastered waves of his snowy white hair and gray-tinted goatee did nothing to liven this image.

Wonka junior uncontrollably flinched and swung his head back toward the screen. "Huhn? Oh, Heh, heh, heh. Hi Dad. Wut's up doc?!"

The older man paused at his son's flippant greeting then answered with, "Nothing in particular. It's been a while since I heard from you and I thought I'd give this…_gizmo_ that you sent me a try."

"It's a video phone! Yeah, I got 'em all over the place! Pretty cool, huh? Can ya see me?" Wonka said anxiously with a swift brush over his hair and a tug at his clothing. His expression looked completely vulnerable, erasing all traces of adulthood.

"Yes." Dr. Wonka answered simply, adding no comment on his son's flashy appearance. After a few seconds he asked, "How's your heir coming along?"

"OH! He's uh…well…like the best thing that happened to me since chocolate!" There was another giggle. Mr. Wonka was really bad at wording such emotional things.

Dr. Wonka looked uneasy with the response. "Splendid. But..how is _he_ doing? Is he enjoying his new role and _responsibilities_?"

"Uh, well, gimme a second. I wanna show ya something." Wilber's son left the screen to reveal the luxurious bedroom and Charlie still following the machine around in the background. The stoic dark-eyed man studied the exposed scene intently.

"Lookit this!" Said Wonka with great enthusiasm. This time his father jerked as a painting had been thrust into view. It was magnificent, warm, painstakingly detailed with the two of them intimately positioned with each other, but only one element truly stood out to the mysterious dentist.

"Willy, you had no right to do that." The spark of warmth that Wilber Wonka had managed to put into his voice returned to ice.

"Do what?" Said a startled chocolatier, pulling back the painting to reveal himself again. He looked at the art, "It was done by my personal portrait painter. Don'tcha like it?"

"No, I do not like it. It's completely inappropriate, like a lot of things that you do. Do you _live_ to upset me?!" The gruff voice sent shockwaves through the air.

Wonka looked completely broken and sounded desperate, "I-I don't understand. I think it's totally splendiferous! What's wrong with it?"

Charlie was paying attention now, leaving the robot to scurry off.

Dr. Wonka sounded furious. "You DESTROYED your mother's ring! It was bad enough that you STOLE it from me along with all the other things you took! What you did is _wrong_ and _dangerous_ Willy. I DEMAND that you fix it."

Something had changed while Wonka listened to his father's rant. He answered insubordinately, "NO! I will NOT! It's lots prettier this way! And-and I DESERVED that ring and all those other things! Without 'em I wouldn't have survived after you ABANDONED ME!"

The dentist contradicted him with, "I didn't _abandon_ you. YOU disobeyed ME and RAN AWAY!"

This was HIS chocolate factory and he'd be buried alive in the tombs of Atlantis before he'd listen to another moment of this unmitigated audacity! A button was forcefully pressed to disconnect the feedback and cause the screen to go black.

Willy Wonka stood completely motionless, grinding his teeth, and clutching his hands into squelching fists. Under his breath he mourned, "Why? Why does he hate me?"

Charlie had started to slowly approach him, but stopped when the man picked up one of his canes in a nearby brass stand. He stood in horror as the stick was used to smash and dismantle a collection of delicate decorations that rested on a shelf followed by a strangled scream. The chocolatier spun around with a desperate and psychotic look in his eyes. "_Jewelry_ is the ONLY thing that I HAVE of my mother!! Growing up, I was PUNISHED for even _mentioning_ her!! I can't BELIEVE he still thinks HE can tell ME what tah do!!"

"AAAUHGGN!" The cane was swung again to loudly destroy a sizeable vase.

The boy didn't dare say anything! Perhaps this was the sort of thing that The Tantrum Room was used for?! He was scared out of his wits, but there was still sympathy. Dr. Wonka had reduced his son, the famous Willy Wonka to a raging, distraught child. This must be why his hero never said "I love you" back. He was afraid to because of what the last person he loved did to him. What a contrast to the man who was singing of turning sunrises and rainbows into edible delights!

Madame Rose heard the horrible racket and her presence had come to appear at the top of the balcony. She frantically signed a message to Charlie that translated to:

**Distract him. Do something! Anything!**

The boy nodded at Madame Rose. But what could he do? What distracts a _madman_?! Panicking, he decided to pull off his top sweater and walked toward the magnificent circular bed with the lush curtains at the center of the room. Willy was still howling as he climbed on to the comforter and removed his long-sleeved, button-up undershirt.

The chocolatier had turned around to throw something against his furthest wall when the sight of his shirtless heir on the bed caught his attention. He paused, sounding nearly pleasant as he asked, "Whuddaya doin', Charles?"

"Draw me!" The boy blurted out; the barest blush tracing over the tops of his cheeks and across his nose. He was nervous as all hell, making his English voice a bit higher than usual. "You said you wanted to. Right?"

Madame Rose squinted into the scrying mirror then gave him two big thumbs up.

It was not long after that, the boy found himself nude and pondering how much the eldest female Oompa-loompa knew about their relationship (at least she'd gone back to listening to her music). Charlie still couldn't believe he'd gotten himself into this, however he insisted on lying on his stomach. His mentor equally insisted on using his heir's new trademark strip of cloth to tie one foot to the bedpost.

In a short period of time, Wonka's entire attitude had changed and a series of robots had cleaned up every speck of mess. The man was currently sitting in his desk chair, sketching a mile a minute, humming, and occasionally babbling on about art and things like candy sculpting. As soon as one doodle was done, it was dropped to the floor as he wheeled over to another spot. The last completed portrait gave the child a set of colorful fairy wings, the one before that a jeweled crown; markers and pencils stuck out of the chocolatier's jacket pockets. He was having a delightful time sketching the boy from multiple points of view, mildly aroused and completely distracted from his previous angst.

The chocolatier commanded, "Turn over."

The boy blushed in earnest this time. "I told you, I don't want to."

"Why?" Said Wonka, his voice slightly garbled by the inking pen in his mouth.

"Be-because I'm nothing to look at…there." Charlie admitted.

Wonka put down his sketchbook and tools, a marker falling to the floor with the rest of the mess. "How can ya say that? _Every_ part of you is beautiful!"

He had stood and come to the boy's side. Gently, but insistently, attempting to turn his slender form by the narrow shoulders and hips. Charlie did little to resist, but looked extremely uncertain. The man continued "Especially there, where the most delect- ah, _delicate_ part of you lays."

The child was on his back as one gloved purple hand caressed down the deep collarbone, past subtly shadowed ribcage bumps and toward what it was he was speaking of. The boy's breath caught. Wonka seemed hypnotized for a moment, examining the vulnerable inches that rested upon a barely cleaved, hairless sac. Forbidden fruit. He caressed it and looked back into his heir's helpless eyes, "How could you not think _this_ was beautiful? Maybe…ya just need to know how to appreciate it better."

Charlie couldn't move or speak as he listened to the man continue. "Yes, I do believe it's time for a _proper_ education on the matter."

Another gentle caress followed as the other hand found its way behind Charlie's shoulders and neck as a method of support. It also served as a guide for where the boy should focus his attention. The gloved palm pivoted his head. "One really should learn how tah use one's tools _properly_ in order to get the _full_ use out of them."

"Now, to start with _you_ are uncircumsized." With the gentle care that he would use in the process of confectionary, an exacting amount of pressure between his thumb and forefinger was used to slide the outer skin up once then down again.

"Uhn!" The boy gripped his mentor's exploring arm with a sexually charged gasp. His fingers pulled deep shadows into the material, his mouth parted open.

"The skin, as you can see, is _very_ sensitive, rich in nerve endings. However, I don't have that because my father was a neat freak. _I'm_ circumcised even though we most certainly aren't Jewish. Oh, and he did it himself."

"W-wot does 'circumsized' mean exactly?" He panted.

"It means this.." He pulled the protective tissue forward again with a whimper from his heir, "…was pushed forward when I was a wee babe and then SNIP!"

"Cut off with a sharp blade." His lids lowered and teeth clenched slightly with displeasure, or possibly the opposite, or possibly both. Charlie couldn't quite tell.

The words took the child out the trance of his sensations. He gripped the sleeve tighter, "You were CUT _there_? Doesn't that hurt?!"

"Dunno. Yer supposta be too young to remember. Anyway, that's why we look different." He relaxed the grip of his finger and made a pleased hum as he stroked the forefinger alone down the compact shaft.

"I didn't get a very good look." The boy said meekly, his toes wiggling.

"Hmm, oh really? Well, maybe you'll get another chance. After all, you have been a _very_ good boy today." He responded nonchalantly, with a singsong voice.

The child's heart pounded at that possibility.

"Back to the lesson." He chided sweetly. His finger now ran underneath the tip, "Yer lucky because being uncircumcised means you still have a _frenulum_. This elastic petal of tissue that connects your outer skin to your _glans_."

The words were a bafflement, but the erotic stimulus as his mentor once again moved back the skin, while this time rubbed the exposed pink tip made the meaning VERY clear. He bit into his own finger, "Ahn!"

"Yeah. It makes you _extra_ sensitive and…" He leaned his mouth near the boy's ear, deliberately allowing his lips to brush, "I've read that your orgasms are _much_ more pleasurable."

One of Charlie's legs had bent forward while the other stretched out as far as it could go; even the toes were spread. This was so much like his fantasy where he had little or no control. How could he struggle in his invitingly vulnerable position? And yet, despite slight blood loss, the thinking part of his brain managed to process the words he just heard, "I-I…"

The movements did not cease, as his teacher demonstrated that the sensitive tip could be re-covered and massaged through the foreskin producing more exciting reactions, "Yes, what is it dear boy? Speak up."

"I'm sorry." He huffed. The wolf receded from Wonka's eyes for a moment as the youth managed to continue. "That…doesn't seem fair."

The chocolatier was once again over-whelmed at this person's ability of compassion. How could Charlie think of anything but his own needs at this point? Mr. Wonka felt something tug at his throat, but quickly suppressed it. Replacing the creeping emotion with much preferred lust. His voice stayed dulcet as he spoke again, "It's alright. I kinda get a kick outta knowing that yer MORE sensitive than I am in at least _one_ spot…and such a _fortuitous_ spot at that. Shall we look for more?"

The fully clothed man now added two more fingers to the first, cuping the rest of his anatomy, which was fitted far tighter to the boy's body than his own. Being aroused made the skin tighter still. It was a lovely in-between stage of development in puberty.

"I know what _those_ are." The boy giggled breathily.

"Good! Do ya also know how receptive to stimulus they are?" His voice was as cheery as a pleased parent while his other hand had slid down Charlie's predominant shoulder blades, anticipating the next reaction.

The child had _thought_ he knew the answer to that question until he was massaged with the large fingers around, in between, and finally the delicate place _underneath_ the spheres. Eyes stared sightlessly upward as his spine arched into the expectant arm curled around. He used his own to cling to the back of the man's jacket with a very audible, "HAaahHNn!"

The hand stopped to slide back up the boy's abdomen, palm flat, enraptured at the feel of him straining against it in ecstasy. The preternaturally attuned chocolatier could sense the vital organs that lay so near the surface; so many things to manipulate and so many of them activated by his very touch. He felt the saliva in his mouth increase at the tantalizing notion.

Charlie's eyes rolled back at the next sensation of a forceful tongue licking up his form where the hand had trailed. It paused only once to suck on the bud of an erect nipple before lifting off in a kiss. The sensations Mr. Wonka could trigger! A youthful moan filled the silence.

Their eyes connected again, each enraptured in the joys of the other. The child's eyes trailed down the man as a hand had done to his own, they landed on an inviting bulge before looking back into the intuitive gaze of his captor. Wonka's hands slid off him as the boy regained his ability to balance himself once again. From his knees he fell downward toward the waistband.

Then paused, remembering the last time. He said wantingly, "_May_ I?"

The man stayed at the side of the bed with the nude child gazing up at him on all fours, a 'leash' shill tying him to the bedpost. Lavender eyes were pondering something. Charlie had really only asked as a formality. He wondered in frustration why he was kept waiting!

The man finally spoke, cleverness in his tone, "Start with my broach."

"Uh, okay." The boy said uncertainly and lifted himself upward, exposing his entire front, as his hands found that famous initial -- the silver, curled "W". Oddly, there _was_ something as erotic and powerful about it as what he did hope to get to eventually.

Willy's eyes were busy running down the exposed pinky-peach flesh, happily halting at his heir's erect boyhood. As the child stroked a finger over the metal of his broach, Wonka admitted, "Ya see, I've been jealous of my own candy bars lately."

On a whim, Charlie licked the metal, applying a kitten-like wet pressure to it.

"OoohhhHhnn." A surprisingly aroused noise was the response to that action.

The boy pulled off, retracting his tongue last and looked curiously at the man's face. From his angle, the cheekbones seemed especially noticeable. The eyes opened after a second and Wonka spoke slightly slowly. "That was goood. Very, _very_ good."

A hand began to trace a caress across Charlie's back as an instruction was issued. He said in a lower and whispered octave, "Continue. Unwrap me. Like one of your chocolate bars."

His heir's head spun. So, _that's_ what he meant by jealous! The strange ways that Mr. Wonka's mind worked! Still, there was something amusingly inviting about that command.

Two gloved hands wrapped themselves back around his naked skin while the boy stood up on his knees against the rigid form. His small fingers worked their way under the pin and undid its catch. Careful not to go too quickly, he slid the needle out of the fabric. Once removed, he kissed the firm bump of his mentor's Adam's apple.

Willy seemed to like that as well. A hand cradled the back of his small head and encouraged the youth to pay another homage, then another, then leaned him so close that the next one pushed his teeth up against pale skin gently scraping it. Charlie was certain that Wonka would be mad, but he only groaned again. Then said softly, "_That's_ it…teeny, tiny nibbles just like you give my candy."

The hand was removed and the boy was permitted to continue down after that. His heir copying the instructed method, undoing a single button then laying nibbled kisses. Then another button, then more nibbles. His slender hands trembled as he explored the indent of his mentor's breastbone and the firm pectoral muscles. He found the sliver of exposed chest to be completely smooth and cool like the rest of his body.

The boy pressed the sides of his ever-warmer cheeks against its surface. Where was the heartbeat? He heard what sounded like a double thudding in slow motion as hands traced gratefully down his back again only they were greasy now…slippery?

Sensing the pause, eyes still closed, a monotone voice said quite plainly, "It's cocoa butter, an _integral_ part of chocolate making."

A tube of the substance had been removed from Wonka's jacket and lay on the pink quilt. Figuring it was a way to add another candy bar element, the child didn't give it another thought until a fingertip traced all the way down his spine and then was inserted into him.

"Oh!"

Charlie re-arched his back, pulling his startled face off of the chest.

There was a softer "ohh..", as relaxation led to a more pleasant feeling.

Sleek hair brushed against the side of his cheek as immodest words were whispered. "Consider this _practice_."

Practice? The child's mind flashed onto the images in the Greek and Japanese drawings where different ways that parts could be 'inserted' had been graphically illustrated. Before he could voice a concern or objection, the boy found himself leaned against the comfort and support of a padded shoulder as the digit slipped deeper into him.

"Uhn!"

The palms of two hands enjoyed the clenching of his heir's inexperienced muscles before slowly releasing and withdrawing. Standing upward again, Wonka stated in a husky voice, "We'll play more later."

A pale chasm of skin led back down to the waistband. The boy slowly retraced it with his hands, eventually over and around that area.

"You _may_." Nearly growled the voice.

Charlie was pretty sure that 'he may' but the size of it had changed since the first inquiry and without a blindfold, even in the shadows of the trousers, it seemed very intimidating. He admitted weakly, "I'm scared."

Shades of purple and periwinkle sliding on top of the dark lake were once again exposed. However, the extraordinary eyes did not look _at_ the boy, they looked _past_ him, toward something unseen. The slim chest rose heavily and fell while the child worried about the meaning of the silence. Breathily and with a toothy smile, the man stated, "That's…OK. This is a perfect opportunity for you to uh, make…friends."

Well, Charlie _was_ still very curious and he was desperately craving another taste. The boy started to slowly undo the zipper, with slight hesitation he inquired, "You like it when I say I'm scared, don't you?"

He heard an audible swallow and felt a hand began to brush through his short brown hair. "Yes, Charlie I do. I can't help it. I have a lotta…strong, ah, _urges_, but I won't hurt ya. Don't worry."

After that, a small hand reached into the opening gently wrapping its fingers around and removing the strained member. Followed by a pleading and musical:

"hhHHhhmmnn…"

His manhood was quite a sight in the light; long, curved elegantly upward with a significant and shapely helmet on top. Wonka's face studied the child's reaction with a great fascination; eyelids squinting and widening as he tilted his own head into different angles of view.

"HOW could you think _this_ is inferior to mine?" The boy's fingertips were affectionately brushing up its length, while the other gripped firmly at the base. To him it was like holding sheer pulsing power in his fist. Clearly _some_ part of Willy had grown up!

Breathing heavily and caressing the boy's hair more wantonly, the chocolatier responded, "Because the skin..at the end is thicker..and less sensitive than yours."

The boy traced his fingers around its predominant edge, his face daringly near, "But it's neat, it looks like an upside down heart."

Indeed, the shape was rather pronounced at the tip, but some might say that it looked more like the spade of a devil's tail. To Charlie Bucket, it looked like a heart. A quick cherub grin and a flicker of his heir's blue and marbled green eyes were followed by, "Guess I'll have to use more _pressure_ to make absolutely certain that you feel everything."

Now, by comparison to a normal male, Mr. Wonka was nowhere _near_ as insensitive as he lamented. So when those eager lips finally wrapped around the first inches of rosy skin, a bolt of sensual wonderment coursed through his being. How he had been longing to experience this again!

The child carefully slid up and down, pushing his tongue very firmly against the top, twisting the tip around his 'heart'. It was warmer than the rest of him, a pleasant temperature that caused the small mouth to linger there while slowly increasing the pace. After the first warm-up strokes, he attempted to swallow more with each repetition.

A slight taste of the sweet & salty release that was to come was the child's reward, that and the musically sliding scale of a moan. Different whimpers, groans, and sounds with each movement:

"Hhhmmm…._Uuhhnggn_…..AauaahHHAWwannn…_nnn_!"

They were completely unique utterances that caused the boy to smile despite his very full mouth. One hand stayed wrapped around the length he had not yet managed, while the other hand slid back into the zipper to repeat the lesson he had recently learned on a larger scale. There was a prideful feeling as the man bowed over slightly causing the entirety of his mentor to slide down into his throat, tongue rubbing underneath it as he did so. It felt like the man grew another inch in the process!

Pride gave way to startlement as the chocolatier's bent position allowed him to probe the unexplored opening of his heir's backside again. The combination of being entered in two places at once aroused the boy more than anything he had expected. He responded with moans, which got trapped in his throat, as he began to slide up and down at a faster pace. Heavy breathes and trumpets of noise matching the rhythm. It took a lot of effort to place that much pressure and suction up and then down the length of it, again and again. The slick movement got achingly slow as the boy attempted to give himself a break. Savoring the iron-like hardness underneath the sleekly soft skin.

Eventually the boy slid all the way off to admire it again, but kept licking up and down the sides. He finally paused to ask (half out of interest from the scene with his mother and half out of his newly built little ego), "Have you ever been this um, _excited_ before?"

The surprisingly strangled answer was, "By a _person_?..._uhhnnn_...No."

The small tongue paused against its work. What was _that_ supposed to mean? Before he could say anything else, he felt the back of his head gripped and rather forcibly encouraged to finish the job. He liked it. He also liked that the man found him being frightened exciting too, though he didn't quite know why and he certainly didn't care as a firm rhythm was being thrust into his orifice. Mr. Wonka was getting _rough_ this time! The child gripped firmly onto the man's hips in order to keep steady, allowing himself to be used and thoroughly penetrated, eagerly anticipating his 'treat' (as he seemed to have knick-named it).

Being engulfed into something as warm, and wet, and narrow as Charlie's mouth and throat was an over-whelming sensual experience. The man knew he was probably being more forceful than he should, but he couldn't stand another 'break'. He needed release! The throbbing sensation had traveled all the way down him and steadily built in his groin. Besides, wasn't he was doing the youth a favor by taking over all the effort? How could he have found such acts so confusing for so long? It was like _drowning_ in chocolate: wonderful, lush, rich, creamy, dreamy, dark, dark, _sinful_, chocolate.

Those thoughts worked him into frenzy. He emitted a loud and mellifluent noise that changed in pitches but did not cease as grateful swallows clamped and released. Nothing was done to halt or prevent it, the man simply _indulged_ this time. Apparently, his heir held no grudges against him for the rough treatment, he thought. Perhaps he wouldn't mind a little more then? Especially since he needed to be thoroughly drained of the unharnessed energy, he reminded himself.

Exactly as the effects of the powerful, tingling fluid were impacting his heir, the boy was roughly pushed back onto the pillows and stuffed animals. Willy leaned well over Charlie, climbing three-fourths over him, holding down both his wrists in one hand. In one swift movement, he thrust the finger of his other hand inside again.

"OH!" "aAAAHN!" One noise followed the other as the boy's climax was intensified by the penetration. His bound leg buckled against its restraint. In and out, faster and faster, he could feel the movement. His mouth stayed completely gaped open while his eyes stayed equally squeezed shut. Slowly the free leg had found its way over the shoulder of the form hovering over him.

"Pretend that it's _me_ inside of you." Was projected into his ear and mind, obviously he meant something _other_ than his fingers. Now Charlie's neck and torso were being kissed and nibbled, though with far less gentleness. He felt himself getting fully stimulated all over again: "UH! haff OH! huff UHN!"

The youth didn't think he could possibly have another one so soon after…then a second finger was slid in and twisted. Yes, he _could_! "OOHH!! Mr. Wonka! OH!"

Angelic lips were aggressively covered before another sound of glee could be emitted. The fingers stayed firmly in place pushing roughly against and inside of him until the completion of his second release. When the equally probing kiss ended, the boy lay panting desperately, unable to even move. He heard the sound of the zipper closing then felt his front being licked clean. Small pleased whimpers accompanied the act, arms limply crossed over his head. His mentor needn't have held them there for he wouldn't have dreamt of putting up a struggle.

Wonka found the incoherent noises completely adorable. He stood again to take in the picturesque pose. Lazy eyes managed to look up at him, the face flushed across his turned up nose as the boy shyly asked, "When can it _really_ be you?"

"We'll see." The man's response was of nigh imperceptible facial twitches of restraint, his voice barely wavered, but the eyes were practically beaming spotlights. Gently, he bundled up the cotton candy quilt around the bare child. "Why don't ya focus on the old scrying mirror for a while? I'll take care of lunch."

Walking up his slim staircase, he heard the boy wearily call up, "No..hotdogs."

He giggled with mirth. Of course he wouldn't do that to the lad. That would be too mean. However, there _would_ be individual spongy, cream-filled desserts!

Snuggled up and looking into the glassy black surface, Charlie remembered the first thing he had focused on: wanting Mr. Wonka to be happy. He still wanted that, but now he was worried about his own father and Dr. Wonka. Why had the ring upset the dentist so much? He felt faintly guilty looking at the precious band. He thought about sliding it off, but emotionally couldn't bring himself to do it. Instead, he kissed the embellished gold and held it close to his heart.

Looking back up at the scrying mirror, he could have sworn he saw the image of a woman in a flowing white dress. She reminded him of his mother from when she touched the unicorn. He leaned forward and undid the strip of cloth that tied him to the bedpost, loosely re-tying it around his throat. The tranquil image had ceased, but something was still in there, for no reflection of anything else showed. There was a dark undulating shadow instead -- as if something lay underneath.

He hopped off the circular draped bed, dragging the large quilt behind him. He got closer and closer to the beckoning surface. Where had the woman gone?

The surface of the scrying mirror seemed to ripple like a giant black lake. As one palm drew right up towards its surface, the middle of the mirror seemed to split wide open revealing a giant blood-colored eye glaring right at the child. It was as big as his entire body, mottled with amorphous black fluids that slid about.

Charlie shouted and fell over backward onto the fluffy quilt. The gruesome image was nearly engulfed in shadow except for the single, red eye. Toward the edges of the towering mirror he could make out a sickeningly green outline that kept wriggling and twisting about. Charlie shut his eyes and held his breath. Hoping that the thing would disappear and the woman would return. Inside his mind, he pleaded, "Go away, go away!"

When he opened them, neither image was there, only the reflection of everything in the room. Including his sprawled nude form. Modestly he began to recollect his clothes and put them back on. It was embarrassingly pleasant to note that the cocoa butter had been absorbed, making his skin smoother than usual.

The boy halted mid-way to replace the quilt onto the bed. Wouldn't want to get a new bruise for messing up the bed, would he? Maybe he would, it was oddly entrancing to press on the former mark, deliberately recollecting and controlling the pain. Somehow along his difficult path in life he'd learned to translate discomfort into pleasure. Putting those thoughts aside, he put the fluffy mass back in place anyway. Doing the wrong thing on _accident_ was one thing, doing it on _purpose_ was another.

He glanced back toward the mirror. The giant, protective Eye of Horus hovering above caused him to immediately look away again. It was too creepy in its similarity.

As he was tugging his sweater back over his head, he heard his mentor whine, "Aww, I wanted ya to stay that way for the rest of the day. You can run around here naked as a bluejay _all_ the time, as far as I'm concerned!"

The boy only gave a deeply dimpled grin at such a far-fetched idea.

The tray was set-up as a smell of curry wafted through the air, carrying exotic spices, pineapple and coconut flavors with it. Daisies were the flower of choice this time. It seemed rather simple for the debonair man, but the boy liked them. Mr. Wonka noticed Charlie breathing in the air with his eyes delicately closed to isolate the fragrances. "Ya know…coconut oil is almost as useful as cocoa butter."

He got exactly the reaction he wanted when even his heir's neck blushed. "SO, did we make magick again? See anything interesting this time?"

"I did. I saw a beautiful woman and then…a monster. One even worse than anything in The Secret Ingredients Room!" He said with fear, the color draining back from his face at its recollection.

"Ooo! _Two_ visions? Who was the woman?" Wonka asked perplexed. Why did the kid keep seein' things that he couldn't?

"Dunno, she sort of looked like Mum wearing a white dress. Maybe prettier." Charlie looked up at him and smiled. "Though no lady is really prettier than my Mum."

"Must be where ya get it from." Said the chocolatier followed by a concerned, "Describe the monster."

"It was hideous! It stared at me with a big, ugly red eye and it looked like it was this moldy shade of green and it was as big as your whole mirror! And it kept worming about like rancid jell-o. I had to shut my eyes to get rid of it!" He shuddered even thinking about the thing again and leaned into the man, noticing that he'd changed his gloves. They were now a pale gold color with a subtle shimmer.

"K'nids." Said Wonka. His eyes looked to be analyzing something, lips almost smiling.

"Pardon?" Responded the boy.

"Vermicious K'nids from the planet Vermes. Those are the aliens I told ya about." The chocolatier pressed a button for Madame Rose to come down and join them.

Clearly his heir was desperate to know more. However, Willy's next comment was only a provocative, "Hey, who gave you permission to untie yerself from the bed? _Bad_ Charlie."

**Authors Notes:**

**A 'plaster' is the British term for a Band-Aid******

"**Chicken butt? Know why? Chicken thigh!" That annoying bit of dialog is me. Yep, if you ask me "Know what?"– I am VERY likely to give those answers. You can blame Macally Culkin from his guest appearance on ****Saturday Night Live**** in the 80s. I thought it was funny then and I still do. Much to everyone's chagrin (actually some people think its funny).**

'**Triple Dazzle Caramel' is the name of Mr. Wonka's candybars and it's REALLY good. I ordered mine from Ireland off of the ever-lovin' e-bay!**

**The licking of the candy apple was inspired by this friggin' amazing illustration. I don't know the artist personally, but every Depp!Wonka fan should see this and they'll understand why the image wouldn't leave my imagination (that and I was making a not so subtle reference to Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden):**

**vejiita4eva(dot)livejournal(dot)com(slash)81630(dot)html**

**Check out this simple pencil piece of Charlie "tasting" by a reader named "Hatii": img(dot)photobucket(dot)com(slash)albums(slash)v329(slash)Hatii(slash)CharlieCouch(dot)jpg**

**The delectable song, "The Candyman" comes from the 1970 movie of ****Charlie and The Chocolate Factory**** and I would LOVE to see the two sing the song together. The leap into Mr. Wonka's bedroom was meant to recall the horrible, psychedelic boat ride that also came from the first movie. Ugh! How I HATED that ride! As a kid, it was the hardest part of the movie for me to watch. I'd cover my eyes and swear that I could still see the images anyway. Damn you, Willy!**

**Jiminy Cricket is a charming Walt Disney character who wears a suit as stylish as Willy and whose name makes a great expression!**

**A Victrola is an old-fashioned music machine, not a band.**

**It has recently come to light that Sir Isaac Newton was a man of great religious belief AND a devoted alchemist (I saw a special on KQED about it and was thrilled for days. Whose a nerd?) In his time that was considered heresy, but he plundered away with it in secret – refusing to deny himself knowledge of any sort. There **_**are**_** texts that he kept private and they really could say anything! "The vegitation of metal" was particularly interesting to him. **

**The sandwich analogy of algebra was invented by me, a little while back, trying to coach my friend, petpetangel (an author on FFN and LiveJournal) into understanding math in her journal. **

**Gene Wilder used a small flute-like instrument to summon the Oompa-loompas in the 1970's movie, but pan-flutes specifically are associated with Paganism and Pan creatures (including **_**Peter**_** Pan). Such creatures are considered tricksters and seducers.**

**Wanna try Aztec style chocolate? Well, you can! A company named "Dagoba" makes 'Xocolatl' candy bars and hot cocoa! All the other info about that ancient culture is also true. They were a fascinating, spiritual, artistic, and violent society. I too suspect they are related to Oompa-loompas.**

**Carpet cleaning robots really exist, but Willy Wonka has lots of others to keep things neat in his personal quarters. **

**Ya see, I just wasn't as pleased with my first blwjob in this story as I could have been. So, here's a second helping. Wait, is this the author's notes or Wonka's? Anyway, this was another one of those things that I can't believe I typed but the characters rather insisted on. I think they wanted the audience to get a lesson along with their own. And I believe we gave you enough information with this chapter to keep yourselves amused for a good, hard, uh, I mean long while.**

_**Individual spongy, cream-filled desserts**_** something akin to Twinkies********. How appropriate in name and texture. (Don't get it? Look up the word 'twink'.)**

**What do daisies represent? Look that up too, the language of flowers and their lore is fascinating. wink **

**The gruesome Vermicious K'nids are in the book ****Charlie and The Great Glass Elevator****. I've been anxious to add their element to the tale.**

**Oh, and lastly I do not hate Christians but they do have a bad rap in history especially where Paganism is concerned. I stay true to that, but am not trying to push an agenda. Everyone research things like a maniac (like me) and make up your own minds. I **_**was**_** raised with a certain strict religion, but I'm interested in all of them.**


	16. Volume 16

**Title:** Is It Scary, volume XVI - Have You Seen What I've Seen?

**By:** IDOL HANDS

**Rating:** Mature Demented Audiences

**Warnings:** For dramatic and adult themes, alternate Paganism, sex magick, implied incest & adulterous undertones (did I?), an _explicit_ under-aged/adult slash ('shota' or 'chan') relationship.

**Disclaimer:** The characters portrayed are not my property but that of the estate of R. Dahl, Tim Burton, Freddie Highmore and Johnny Depp. The world wouldn't be half as wonderful without their madness. smiles

**Summary:** More mystery, creations, and Oompa-loompa insights as Charlie attempts to keep everything in order for school tomorrow. Mr. Bucket has more time to reflect on what reflects above his glass-covered oxygen capsule. Wonka's emotions shift nearly as fast as his elevator, this time leaving even Mrs. Bucket caught off guard!

**"Who's the fairest of them all?"**

It was toward the end of Charlie's day. He had spent some time with his team after his 'lessons' officially ended. To his absolute joy, with the help of his four young Oompa-loompas, they had taken a mere spark of imagination and successfully turned it into a tangible confectionary marvel. What a special feeling, to take nothing more than an invisible idea and breathe life into it through the belief of your vision. No wonder creating things, no matter how preposterous or theoretically useless, had kept Willy Wonka busy and entertained over the span of decades. It was such a great feeling! Like dreaming! Or flying!

…or being in love.

Yes, today had been simply "splendiferous" as his…he still couldn't quite think it, as his _mentor_ would say. As he sat, the Oompa-loompa nurses reported that Wonka was a blur throughout the factory, whizzing around everywhere and brimming with ideas. The little people all said that they hadn't seen him this happy or excited since they first came to the factory over fourteen years ago! _And_ he'd only said two 'oops' and one 'whoopsie' – a new record in _lack_ of destruction and accidents! A permanent dimpled grin stayed on the boy's face as he sat loyally by his father's side in The Puppet Center and Burn Unit, thoroughly engaged in reading books and making notes. His worries were soothed by the knowledge that Willy Wonka was a mastermind who could handle anything. Well, anything except his own father. The boy still felt badly about that.

As Charlie searched his thoughts, Mr. Bucket was surprised to find his eyes open and something resembling sunlight filtering into them from inside the narrow room with the towering ceiling. The patient had survived the night. Looking left, he saw the familiar half-melted face of 'Johnny'. Yes Johnny, apparently Mr. Wonka had _named_ all the clockwork mascots at some point. The family had noticed this when they got their full tour; it was difficult to decide if that was a caring or deranged gesture. It turned out this specific uncertainty would be a great pattern with the chocolatier.

Dreading the possible velvet-coated view of said man, he moved his eyes more slowly to the right. Above his glass cylinder though was an _endearing_ sight. Charlie! And he was wearing _normal_ clothes! Yes, a checkered button shirt under a stylish sweater…that had up and down stripes looking like linked W's (similar to the ones on the Oompa-loompa uniforms).

Now, now, I'm sure it's only a coincidence - he forced himself to think. Then his eyes drifted to that little gold ring. But before he could curse or contemplate the thing that seemed to have become a permanent part of the boy's body, his eyes focused on the bright red, tennis-ball sized candy that his son was diligently working his mouth over. Why had Willy Wonka invented a candy that you could "suck forever and would never get any smaller" _exactly_ too big to fit into one's mouth? Especially the smaller mouth of a child who most presumably would be doing said…uh, sucking? The father couldn't help but notice how Charlie's tongue was twisting and running under the object in a method that seemed far too knowledgeable for a child of his age. Following that thought, the boy pushed the ball halfway into his mouth, clamping his lips around it, using suction with audible persistence to hold the candy into place as both hands were employed to turn the page of his sizable tome. The spine revealed that his study was a book about Leonardo DaVinci. Mr. Bucket was thoroughly impressed that his young son was studying such an ancient and accomplished figure of history. At least _some_ part of Wonka was rubbing off on his son in a positive way!

Uncertain as to why, Mr. Bucket found himself closing his eyes nearly shut to keep Charlie from realizing that he had actually awoken. The father decided that he wanted to observe his child a moment longer without his knowledge. It was a rare opportunity, especially lately.

The engineer carefully traced the subtle curve of his three-quarter's profile; the roundness at the apple of his cheek when he smiled at some text or perhaps a whimsical thought, the way the tissue sank at the points where he gratified his urge for more of the Incredible Gobstopper's flavor, the thick fan of his fawn colored eye-lashes above sparkling blue-green eyes, the hypnotizing flawless texture of his fair skin. He had to admit to himself that there was a beauty even if he was a boy, a fairy-like perfection about Charlie at this time in his life that would fade. Dare he add…_unappreciated_? Was this how Wonka saw things? Was this embodiment of childhood innocence and simplicity what he sought to grasp? There it was, dangling in front of him all the time. Would a lonely old misfit be able to resist? But sexualizing a child was wrong. That's all there was to it, yet…the way Charlie was licking that candy would suggest otherwise. So would some of his outfit choices of late. Surely the boy wasn't aware of himself in such ways yet. Had he himself been? Could he remember?? Regardless, Mr. Wonka struck him as the sort who didn't deny himself much in the way of temptation. After all, look at his candy, his clothes, and his entire factory!

The medical patient wondered if he was loosing his mind to even entertain such notions. Calm yourself, Mr. Bucket, you're going off the deep end again. No point in this endless speculation. What if, just _what if_, Willy IS simply this awkward man-child who only feels comfortable expressing himself around their son? Could it be that sexualizing the old candy maker was as wrong as doing the same to a child?

His eyes widened unexpectedly as they focused on the embroidery of Charlie's cuff – it was, without a doubt, a neatly stitched capital "W". Perhaps it was because he was male, but that certainly resembled someone _claiming_ their _territory_; sort of like that supposedly platonic jewelry. He growled under his breath from frustration. There was simply no way of knowing which way their relationship was going, but their affection for each other certainly was growing!

The two sets of eyes finally met each other, causing the boy to cheer out, "DAD!"

Arms wrapped lovingly around the glass as the side of the child's face got squashed against its transparent surface. He kissed it, leaving a mark, then shouted, "I've missed you! I'm so sorry you got hurt! So, _so_ sorry! I feel like it's all my fault because I wanted you all here in the factory with me and then I got all cross at you and I thought…I thought…"

The words poured out of him as did tears. It both pained his father and pleased him to see the child upset over his condition. Mr. Bucket shook his head back and forth to dissuade Charlie of his guilty notions.

Slim brows raised upward in sympathy as he wiped away his tears. As he did so, several of the Oompa-loompas had rushed to the boy's side, one with a tissue in hand (which was edged in swirled W's). The pot-bellied men in the thick white cotton jumpsuits all glimpsed inside the pod and waved cheerfully, though nearly no expression appeared on their dark-tan faces. The father contained inside couldn't help taking note of _how_ attentive the diminutive people were towards his son, it wasn't the first time he'd seen an example of that; yet another occurrence that initially seemed endearing but was now becoming provocative.

While one was hand signing a message to the boy, it made Mr. Bucket recall Loki. Yes, one of them had _spoken_ to him! Hm…might'n every one of the tricky imps secretly speak English then? How would the family know? See, it was sneaky things like this that forced him to analyze the chocolatier in such dark lights. There WAS a lot about his world that was ominous, all lurking right under the candy-coated surface…rather like his eyes. His stomach churned thinking of them. How could a human being have such _alien_ looking eyes? He'd never seen anything like them. The engineer paused on that thought. Paused greatly.

"Dad! Look wot Mr. Wonka gave me today! It's a pocket watch like his, only smaller. See?" The embellished golden object was placed clearly into his view. "It can show the time in ANY country, some I've never even heard of, and if you open it up and flip it over…all of these dials represent the planets in the solar system! This little one even shows the orbit of Halley's comet. Isn't it the most amazing thing?! I knew you'd like it because you're so good with machines. I told him how you took all our appliances off the street and fixed them yourself!"

He leaned closer to the speaker box as the two Oompa-loompas stepped away. In a soft voice he said, "Dad, I know you'd like Mr. Wonka again if you got to know him better. He told me some personal stuff today. We really have a lot more in common than you might think. He knows wot it's like to suffer, to be cold…only he didn't have any family to help make him feel better. In fact, he didn't have anybody in the whole wide world. Isn't that dreadful?"

Mr. Bucket only blinked in response. The words weren't what he'd expected. Charlie had been clearly put in the middle of the two of them and was trying to play peacemaker. He _nearly_ felt shamed for his previous thoughts. And then a shadow loomed over the child, one wearing a very distinctive hat.

"Oh good. He's awake again." The subtle flat tone under the statement would suggest the exact opposite of exuberance, but a toothy smile as unnatural as the ones on his puppets was presented with practiced radiance.

Charlie immediately turned around. He embraced the man, "Mr. Wonka!"

The chocolatier gave Mr. Bucket a very penetrating stare as he put one arm around the boy, the other clutching his cane. A message was being sent that tended to support the embroidery of those cuffs, something akin to ownership, and the fact that he'd done nothing to _force_ his heir to feel so affectionate towards him. Like it or not, a distinct jealousy was the effect. And like it or not, _both_ men felt engaged in a juvenile competition.

Turning back around, Charlie looked at the two of them looking at each other. A slight pink tint arose in his face as his eyes darted nervously between them; he'd acted on impulse, forgetting his father's paranoia, as well as Mr. Wonka's lack of patience on the matter - time for a big, fat distraction. Oh yes! "Mr. Wonka says that he's going to fix your arm better than ever!"

A puzzled look came from the restrained patient under glass, that statement was a lot different than the "that arm looks like a goner" one from yesterday. He looked up as the corners of Mr. Wonka's bright lips curled slightly. The confectioner tilted his head to the side in a singular positive nod.

"And the Oompa-loompas are going to have a Moon festival soon. We're going to be the guests of honor!" The boy looked very hopeful, but his father's face still looked unsure of how to feel. Mr. Bucket tilted his head back up to look at Willy (who had not removed his hand from the child's shoulder).

Charlie looked up at him as well, "Can I tell him the rest?"

"Of _course_, my dear boy. Who else should?" His sweet look at Charlie shifted as soon as the boy looked back at his father. It had faded to something distant, like an observer in a theater act.

Leaning close, the boy whispered excitedly, "You and Mum can get married for real! Mr. Wonka's going to see to it."

This did NOT produce the effect the child had hoped for as a rare look of fury stretched out his father's face. As far as the boy had seen, his father was mostly laid back and good-natured. This ruffle in his temperament was recent and alarming. Charlie immediately backed up and into his secretly amused mentor. Muffled shouting followed, while the words were not clear, the straining of his neck, veins and muscles were. So was one question as the head titled and bobbed specifically at the chocolatier. The boy could make out, "Did he?! _Did he?!_"

"Yes Dad, he _did_ tell me, but I'm not mad. Please don't be upset." There was a slight squeak in the sound of his voice and his hands were raised up to his chest in a surrendering motion, shaking slightly. The boy remembered how his father had given up a chance to visit the factory, giving in to Grandpa Joe's desperately pleading eyes & youthful exuberance. His father had been patient, but perhaps he'd been bottling up too many emotions lately.

A repetitive beeping alarm began to sound from the incubator.

"Wot's that?! Is something wrong?!" Charlie was getting frantic, his entire form looked tense and thinner than usual.

Mr. Wonka calmly bent forward past the boy and examined the computer panel, pushing a few buttons, and suppressing a giggle as he responded, "His blood pressure shot up, that's all."

The candymaker's grin shifted to a sneer as he noticed the kiss imprint on the glass. Whether motivated by jealousy or disgust or a combination of both, the chocolatier quickly removed a handkerchief from the pocket of his coat and polished off all trace of the token of affection. The soiled square of fabric was passed to a passing Oompa-loompa who carefully gripped it by the outermost corner, mimicking his employer's caution and trotting away.

After that act, Mr. Wonka added, in a tone of falsely concerned chastisement, "Mr. Bucket you _really_ should try to calm yourself, this isn't good fer your condition. Not good at all."

The engineer's tolerance for these charades reached a limit. Though muffled, it was clear what the engineer had just told Willy Wonka to do to himself, a set of words that the boy had been told never to say. A clamoring noise echoed through the long hall as one of the Oompa-loompas dropped a metal tray full of puppet repair devices.

Mr. Wonka rolled his tongue around in his mouth, eyes half-mast, silent, but clearly perturbed.

"_Mister_ Bucket, I am _shocked_ at you!"

All the males looked toward the familiar woman's voice.

"Willy's only trying to help." Added Mrs. Bucket as she gracefully walked over to the enclosed bed, standing opposite the pair. The long, flowing dress she was wearing slowly swirled to a standstill.

Oh, what a sight for sore eyes she was! How beautiful his wife looked in the flowing Victorian garb, her skin seemed lit from within and the purple lips added a sultry quality. A dreamy look met hers. Maybe a real wedding wouldn't be so bad?

"Honestly dear, we've all been worried _sick_ about you! Mr. Wonka was the only one that managed to cheer up poor Charlie last night. As a matter of a fact, he cheered _all_ of us up!" Her hands were on her hips, but even miffed her features looked kind. Good to the core, just like her father and her son. She stated, "Go on then, _apologize_."

Daydreams were shattered and a look of twisted disbelief followed. He was the injured man! He deserved the sympathy, not weird 'Uncle' Willy! His wife continued to look at him with her no nonsense face. This was important to her. Perhaps he did over react, but who wouldn't?! She was still looking at him. Reluctantly accepting her request, he turned his head back to the right and quietly groaned. Could Wonka look _more_ pleased with himself? Was that possible? He shifted his gaze down, looking directly at his concerned son as his lips clearly spoke. "I'm sorry."

Charlie nodded in understanding, one hand twisting around the band on his finger.

Mr. Wonka pursed his mouth, adjusted his stance slightly, then let out an, "ahem."

A very deep breath and the engineer raised his eyes for the brief second that it took to say it a second time. Only the words were followed by the distinct thought, "that you are such a controlling, immature, damaged, unhinged, and…oddly entrancing individual that my son has decided to care for so deeply."

Wonka's smug grin faded as he wondered what else was in Mr. Bucket's dark eyes. He really hated those reflective eyes; they reminded him of a similar pair that stared down at him in constant judgment when he was growing up. Once upon a time, even his own weren't so dissimilar. How nice they changed to something far more unique and dramatic. Why didn't everybody's?

"That's better." Started Mrs. Bucket. "Now, we're one big happy family again. Oh, we're SO proud of you for saving that worker dear. _Especially_ your father."

The woman looked back up at the chocolatier, his face lost in thought. Assuming her husband's harsh words had still left a sting on the easily upset creator, she decided to give him an ego boost. "Willy, it might impress you to know that George was saying that your Wonkavision project has given his son a chance to make a real name for himself, he even saw his name printed in a technology article today. And I was thinking that without you, us Buckets would probably have lived a modest existence at best. But now, it seems like _the sky's_ the limit!"

Mr. Wonka was broken out of his trance. He looked sincerely flattered at the woman's witty compliment. It was the warmest that he'd looked since he entered the room, like 'the kind man' that Mrs. Bucket was so certain existed within him. Slightly breathless, he stammered, "Heh. Well, I..that is…"

Charlie smiled, "Mr. Wonka promised to make my wildest dreams come true and he's really doing it."

"Judging from your imagination young man, that must be one burdensome task. I hope he can keep up!" Teased his mother.

Willy wiggled his eyebrows, as that infamous gleam appeared in his eyes, "I sure like tryin'!"

The boy and the candymaker looked at each other with an affection that one might say matched ones that the parents showed for each other from time to time.

An urgent tug on the chocolatier's pants interrupted the moment. Wonka leaned down to listen as the native man, no taller than his employer's knee, started to whisper into his ear. Willy's face tensed up again, "Tough nuggies! I don't care HOW _important_ my father says it is, I am NOT talkin' tah him again. I'm havin' a real swell day and I'm not about to let him rain on my parade!"

Mr. Bucket looked concerned at his son at the same time that he finally took note of how many times he had seen an Oompa-loompa speak, not _sign_, directly to the chocolatier.

"Dr. Wonka called today." Charlie explained.

"I SAID I don't want to talk about him!!" The candy maker's high voice carried across the entire room. Willy now looked as aggravated as his chief engineer had a moment ago. Without prompting, he immediately took a large breath and calmed himself down. "Sorry. He, uh, I know Charlie tried but it's so…er, there's still…mmn."

As usual Mr. Wonka was at a loss for words to describe emotion. After an awkward set of seconds, the man settled on making a simple statement in a sad tone, "He just doesn't _get_ me."

It pained Charlie to see him so torn. Who wouldn't want to be loved? But his mentor kept trying _not_ to want it, so it wouldn't hurt, only it _did_ hurt. The boy could see that and he remembered the estranged father and son's silent embrace. It had been a giant leap forward, but there was still so much unsaid. "He _does_ care about you Mr. Wonka. I know he does. Please don't give up."

"Wilbur…" Murmured Mrs. Bucket in a distant voice.

Charlie tried to recollect if he had ever told his mother Dr. Wonka's first name. Perhaps he had.

Willy's glittering, vulnerable eyes were caught by Mr. Bucket just then. As soon as eye contact was made, their appearance and the chocolatier's countenance immediately hardened. He attempted to make his voice jovial again despite the audible waver. "Um, the Sandman needs to spend more time with yer Dad, Charlie. Cells repair the most damage while we sleep and I want him as stabilized as possible before we start workin' on him. Plus you've got tests to ace at school tomorrow."

He cheered up slightly as a thought suddenly crossed his mind, "Hey, just wait until yer old school chums see you arrive in the Great Glass Elevator!"

The still conscious patient made an objection. Although Charlie's mother couldn't quite understand him, his son could. The boy replied to him, "Why not? It's perfectly safe."

Mr. Wonka frowned at the next statements. The father said that he wanted at least ONE part of his boy's life to be 'normal'. He was going to stand out enough in his old school for having won the contest in the first place, no need to rub it in further. Please, for him, couldn't he simply _walk_ as he always had done before?

Despite the chocolatier's extremely distasteful expression, Charlie couldn't refuse his ailing father. Also, he did have a point. "Okay Dad. I promise, we'll walk."

The Englishman gave a slow, appreciative nod as his eyelids drooped closed again. His descent into slumber felt more intense than usual. Had Willy done more than check his blood pressure a moment ago?

As a matter of a fact, if one studied the chocolatier closely they would realize that his smile was more a gritting of teeth than any form of approval. The smile stayed nailed to his face as Mrs. Bucket pressed her fingers to her mouth in a kiss and then to the glass that her love lay beneath. The toothy smile did not fall as they were inside the elevator either. His devoted heir kept looking up at him, but Wonka would not meet his eyes, his wheels were too busy turning and winding like the ones inside Charlie's new pocket watch.

"It'll be alright." His mother said, "Mr. Wonka is good with children, aren't you?"

"Hauh?" Wonka twitched his head in shock, disgust in his tone, "I don't like children."

"But you make candy and you're so very good with Charlie. You must like them a little." She sweetly insisted while placing an arm around her son.

Wonka gave a lop-sided grin. With no confidence whatsoever, he simply replied, "O.K."

After a fidgeting pause he pushed another button on the elevator, Confessing Room. "Uh, I got something I need to attend to. I'm not sure if I'll make it to dinner tonight. 'Kay?"

His heir looked up at him with concerned, swollen eyes. Wonka only glanced quickly at him then back out toward where the elevator was headed as it roughly shifted in mid-air. Mrs. Bucket gripped both arms around her son in order to stay steady. The device really could've used some seatbelts or something.

Faster than anything else possibly could have, the vehicle reached its new destination, happily dinging upon its unexpected standstill. The room it stopped at was more of a long hallway with a red carpet down the middle. It was similar to the optical illusion hallway that the group of Golden Ticket winners entered when they first came to the factory, but without velvet ropes to prevent anyone from 'wandering' off the chosen path.

Willy stepped off, shoulders slouched, turned around with a winning smile and charmingly tipped his hat, "I'm sorry, but this is _most_ important."

Mrs. Bucket and Charlie were whooshed away as an Oompa-loompa in a well-tailored three-piece suit came out to meet him. The boy strained to see the very last glimpse of his mentor, eyebrows upturned, lips parted.

"You care about him a great deal, don't you Charlie?" Said Mrs. Bucket.

Her son looked back at her. There were nearly tears in his eyes again. He swallowed the lump in his throat, forcing himself to answer. "Yes. Yes, I do."

For a second he paused on his accidental choice of words. They harkened to a commitment that was weighing on him and one he was looking forward to his parents making officially.

"Buck up, it's going to be fine. You'll see. We'll get through this together. Just like we always do." The woman leaned down and wrapped her arms completely around him, this time snuggling into him and taking a deep breath. However, instead of her child's usual clean, delicate smell, her nostrils were filled with a familiar tantalizing, complex aroma that she now knew was more than just candy bars and gumdrops. She ceased moving.

The boy looked up at his mother with a weak smile and the humble Bucket mother managed one back, adding no comment as she stood back up. Her approach would be more circumvent, less accusatory, she wanted his point of view before she decided anything.

Mrs. Bucket asked simply, "How did your lessons go today?"

"Good." He said vaguely, while occupying himself with adjusting the strap on his book-bag.

"What did he teach you?" Her voice was calm even though she knew full well when her child was trying to avoid something.

She'd never known him to be deceptive, only protective of things that he was afraid would worry others, he could be very private that way. She remembered when the family was nearly starving to death, shortly after Mr. Bucket lost his job, how the boy never complained; instead he began to leave ten minutes earlier so he could walk more slowly to school, he stopped playing in recess according to his teachers, conserving all his energy unbeknownst to them. And still, this remarkable child refused to take a gram of anyone else's food. Even when his mother put her own onto his plate it was merely left behind, uneaten.

Although he started slowly, in a short time Charlie Bucket was brimming with excitement about all of the things that he had learned that day (the one's suitable for his mother's ears). The subjects ranged from Mayan culture to the subtle under flavors of chocolate to Issac Newton's physics, foreign language, musical instruments, candy sculpting, and a myriad of things that led up to even aliens! Her child looked so alive, so ecstatic and engaged. He mimicked Mr. Wonka at times and seemed annoyed in his little boy way about things that the chocolatier wanted to teach him but said he wasn't ready for yet. Those words gave the mother a small sense of relief.

Then his expressions changed as he recounted the argument between Mr. Wonka and his father. "Mr. Wonka doesn't want to be told what to do, but Doctor Wonka is only worried about him. Then they fought about whose fault it was that they didn't see each other for so long but that doesn't _matter_ anymore. They're both in pain and too proud to admit it."

A large sigh followed.

After that Charlie got quiet again, his eyes went dull, his head tilted down. She could tell that he was trying to be brave and not show his full emotions. It was a habit he had picked up from his father.

"What's the matter, sweetheart?" Said Mrs. Bucket.

"…you guys would never…just disappear if I made you mad would you? I mean, what if I disobeyed you and did something VERY bad?"

The mother looked at him with concern. "Charlie I know you would never do something you thought was wrong, but even if you did, you'd always be my child, I could never abandon you, neither could any of us. You're the light in our lives!"

The boy paused. Then spoke again. "Dad said that I'm the only one who understands Mr. Wonka and sometimes I feel like that's true. It makes me feel really special that he…_needs_ me for more than inheriting the factory. I…I like it."

The child's eyes stayed on the floor, turning left then right, returning to glance back up at her. "Is…is it wrong to care about someone so much?"

"No." She said, then added with only a hint of something more in her voice, "I feel the exact same way about your father."

Charlie's mouth dropped open in surprise at the statement.

"Besides, I often think that Willy needs _all_ of us…even if he's too 'gosh darn' stubborn to admit it." The sentence was said with a smile in her voice.

The elevator dinged again, signaling their arrival at The Chocolate Room where their cottage nestled. "C'mon we still have _four_ other people expecting dinner and I've got an urge to bake again. What do you say to pizza? I got the recipe from one of the Oompa-loompas at work. It's fun to make and everyone can put whatever they want on theirs!"

The boy gave his mother a nervous look, wondering about what she had said a second ago. His mind quickly drifted to the subject of dinner though, it had been many years since he had tasted the traditional Italian food, "Sure, sounds great. If we all make our own then I won't have to eat Grandpa George's stinky anchovies."

"Oh, you just say that because you've never tried them. They're not so bad once you give them a chance…most things aren't actually." She took his hand as they walked toward the house. With a silly grin reserved for her son, she playfully asked, "So, are you going to put _extra cheese_ on yours, little mouse?"

Charlie giggled exactly as a happy young boy should.

Back in The Confessing Room, it was apparent to the mini-psychiatrist that Mr. Wonka was in a terrible muddle. He couldn't even get his coat off, in order to slip into his robe, without assistance.

The man's state was a great contrast to the rumors that had reached Jung's ears about him bustling with happiness and bursting with new inventions. Then again, the little people knew full well how moody Willy Wonka could be. In fact, the chocolatier's multi-faceted personality was this Oompa-loompa's inspiration to study psychology when he discovered its existence. There had been SO many things about the world that they had been completely unaware of on their remote island, but they were eager and fast learners, quick to adapt without abandoning their own ancient culture.

Having carefully removed his shoes and replaced them with his embossed velvet slippers, Mr. Wonka placed his top hat, his jacket, and his vest onto the coat rack near the red and black shoji screen where he changed; formality could make him strangely modest at times. Being comfortable _was_ important to his analysis, but the removal of clothes was practically symbolic of the baring of his soul that the great inventor was about to allow, something that left him much more vulnerable than being nude.

It usually took the chocolatier a good ten minutes to get himself situated onto the long red, armless couch - plenty of time for Jung to double-check the notes on their last session. In the past, listening to Willy talk about the Buckets and his growing attachment for his heir was tricky since Oompa-loompas had a far different social structure than most of the other societies that he'd read about. The tiny people had a 'group way' of raising children that was closest to the methods of African tribes, only they didn't have "a village raising their children" out of a moral standard, the Oompa-loompas _truly_ never knew who their real parents were! It simply didn't matter to them.

Willy Wonka had tried to adopt that attitude once he learned it. He daydreamed about being raised as an Oompa-loompa, but it was of little comfort since he didn't have a _tribe_ growing up either. Although his workers couldn't help him further understand the true nature of families, the chocolatier tried every one of their customs, even those he found distasteful, in order to get closer to them. It amused the jovial people at times, but as they got to know more about their complex savior, those actions _honored_ them.

Jung also knew that modern societies would not support the level of intimacy that had developed between him and the boy, so much so that Wonka had not been entirely forthcoming with his therapist about the situation. The Oompa-loompa's namesake did not believe in norms; The Rescuer and the Restorer were cosmically perfectly matched, compatible in their similarities & complimentary in their deficits. Carl Jung's philosophies would point to archetypes and the unconscious collective at play in this situation, factors that went far beyond age or gender.

Now, most people needed a therapist to help them connect with their subconscious or 'sleeping' mind, but Willy Wonka seemed to be gifted with a subconscious SO powerful and well-connected, that his dreams would spring to life! The downfall of this ability though, was that he had an extreme _lack_ of understanding in his conscious or 'waking' mind. The small man had made a note of that on his miniature steno pad along with many other scribbles. In fact, Jung had _hundreds_ of used stenos in his personal quarters, referring to them as needed. His patient was probably the most involved mind in the world, it _was_ a full time job keeping track of the inner workings of this unique brain.

While many of the Oompa-loompas felt comfortable sharing their own concerns or thoughts about the chocolatier, the psychologist obeyed his code of privacy and never divulged his own. He was known as, "the quiet one". It was a deviation from the usual gossipy way his people operated, but then many of them had acquired deviations since learning about modern society and the inner workers of the vast chocolate factory. Eager as children, they absorbed everything like a sponge, with Willy Wonka as their guide to the vast faults of the new world that they were separated from.

Wonka laid full length upon the couch in his velvet patterned robe and matching slippers, arms crossed over his abdomen. This was a common method among psychoanalysts to put the subject into a more relaxed way of thinking. It worked well for the chocolatier who was usually in _dire_ need of relaxing. What appeared to be an endless hallway lay directly in the middle of the entire place. It gave the chocolatier a feeling of being connected to everything, despite allowing himself this rare time to stay still and reflect. It also ensured that _no one_ would be able to hear a single thing that he was saying, for not even the unusual sound of his voice could travel that high or far over the menagerie of noises caused from running the expansive facility. Yet in their little bubble of space, his words sounded clear as a bell.

The Oompa-loompa placed his glasses onto his face and positioned the short pencil above his chubby pad. As usual the tiny man simply gave Willy an expectant stare. Jung seldom had to actually speak.

"It's about my father…" Began the chocolatier.

Fortunately the psychiatrist had brought _two_ notepads with him. This was always a lengthy subject.

Mrs. Bucket was alone in the house with her thoughts, she was carefully slicing and dicing various sorts of fruit that she'd cleaned earlier; strawberries, bananas, kiwis, grapes, star fruit, plum, pineapple and Charlie's favorite, the snozzberry. Amusing sort of things they were, very unusual shape in their whole forms, practically…phallic. She blushed at the thought. Then laughed out loud when she thought of the name of the man who introduced the family to them. 'Willy'.

Oh dear, that was a much needed chuckle, thought the mother to herself. Still, it brought up the subject of the two of them. What were the odds that an old man who thought like a child would find a child wiser than most old people through a worldwide contest of golden tickets in chocolate bars? Too bad he didn't get out more or he might have met Charlie by sheer chance on a morning stroll. She laughed again, but less audibly this time. Life really was funny sometimes.

A well-chilled ball of dough waited for her in the rear of the refrigerator. Mrs. Bucket yelped as a quirky voice came from right behind her left ear, "Whatcha got there?"

"Willy! You practically scared me out of my skin!" She leaned into the cold air of the appliance in order to maintain some personal space. "Why didn't you say something instead of sneaking up on me like that?"

"Cause I didn't know anyone was in here." Answered the man plainly. His head was tilted to the side, eyes examining her in a detached sort of way. The frilly apron she wore was the exact same one Charlie had borrowed earlier that morning to gather candy apples.

"Do you often enter our house when you think no one is about?" She said half-joking, arching her way around him since he hadn't budged an inch.

"Well, I wouldn't say _often_." Was said with a laissez-faire attitude.

A bubble of a laugh escaped her mouth; only Willy Wonka could be so blatantly rude without realizing it. She had to forgive him due to his lack of upbringing though. It wasn't like the Bucket family had any secrets to hide…especially not anymore.

"Where the heck is everybody anyway?" He swung his head from left to right, assuring that there weren't any grandparents or charming heirs about. The chocolatier came up behind her again, looking over her shoulder, watching her roll out the chilled dough into a wide circle. "Ooh! Whatcha' makin'?"

Questions, questions, and impatience! Exactly like a child, she thought. With enthusiasm she stated, "Everyone else is on the lawn since we decided to have a picnic this evening, this is dough, and I'm making dessert pizzas."

"DESSERT _pizzas?!_ That's a swell idea! Why didn't I ever think of that?! Lemme help! I want to help!" One didn't have to look at him to hear the broad smile in his voice. It also would have been easy to imagine little hearts over his head. Wonka's love for new dessert ideas was nothing short of tangible.

"Alright, don't get over-excited. Here's a lump to play with." She chuckled and plopped the dough into his anxious, grabbing hands.

He examined it with delight: sniffing and pulling at it immediately, even plucking off a small piece and carefully chewing it. One would have sworn a pleased five-year-old had shouted, "Why this is _cookie_ dough!"

"Mmn-hmm." She answered calmly while continuing to expand the circle with the rolling pin. "I planned to put whipped cream cheese filling and fruit on top like a torte."

"Ya know yer doin' that rolling the hard way. Let me show ya sumthin." Mr. Wonka had begun to spin his dough upon his index finger, the blob quickly becoming amorphic, then expanding into a circle as he lifted it up above his head for room.

Mrs. Bucket had stopped her task and was watching in amazement.

Willy giggled, releasing the disk into the air only to have it land spinning back onto his finger of the opposite hand. This gesture was met by applause, which prompted the chocolatier to attempt a bow while keeping his creation air-borne. Unfortunately it spun free and landed on top of his head with a…

_Thwuck!_

Mrs. Bucket immediately placed a hand over her mouth to stifle her own chuckle as the man stood up with a dough-covered face. He looked like a gooey ghost. She lifted up an edge to reveal his overconfident features gone sheepish. "Are you OK under there?"

"Nuthin' hurt but my pride. I'm great at spinning the stuff, it's those landings that are the tricky part." He managed a wavering grin that gleamed even under the shadow.

After the woman carefully removed the dough, she started to wipe the powder off of his face with a damp towel. It was a miracle how little age showed, could her father be mistaken about how old the chocolatier must be? Everyone had been much too polite to ask his actual age. Was it good skin or...something more, like the magick that they'd recently been educated about.

As she became lost in thought, the pale-skinned creator squirmed and contorted his features at her cleaning efforts. Mrs. Bucket chided, "Silly Willy, no wonder Charlie loves you so much."

Wonka suddenly lowered his eyes from her gaze. The subtle gesture of avoidance caught her attention. In a voice more innocent than accusing, she dared, "Mr. Wonka, what _are_ your feelings toward my son?"

He didn't move but his entire body stiffened. Awkward giggles interspersed the noncommittal response. "I…uh…gee, yer really puttin' me on the spot here, aren't you?"

She kept looking at him in a nearly identical fashion to the way she had looked at Mr. Bucket after his blasphemous instructions. Willy wouldn't be permitted to back out of the question.

He took a large swallow, eyes darting across the floor in searching thought. What should he say? A quick intake of breath like he was about to do something that took great courage preceded his next words. There was a lilt in his tone, "I won't lie to you Mrs. Bucket…"

The gloved hands worked hard to convey an impact of emotion that Wonka's words were meant to carry, "I-I've gotten more fond of Charlie then I ever could have imagined. And we _all_ know what a great imagination I've got!"

She didn't look scornful but she didn't laugh, only continued to look at him; analyzing every nuance of this important exchange.

The chocolatier's lips drew downwards in a look that conveyed he felt as if he were failing. He continued, "What I mean is, he's worth more to me than…than every last doggone cocoa bean in my whole factory. I- I'd feel lost without him at this point."

A desperate and frightened look stayed fixed on his face, the hand in front of his face clasped until it squeaked, "I don't think I can explain it better than that without breaking into rhyme. Was that good enough?"

The woman's eyes had grown glossy as he had continued to speak, partly because of how open and sincere the typically arrogant inventor had become and partly because she herself felt the same way about her son; he was worth more than anything of value that she had. Was Wonka finally starting to understand the meaning of love? How disabling it must have been to be raised without a mother and to be abandoned by his father as a child, hated by his competitors, then _betrayed_ by his workers, but under it all there was STILL a human being.

Unable to keep herself from doing it, she embraced him, gripping him and the dishtowel in her hand tightly. "Oh, Willy that was perfect."

If Wonka thought this moment couldn't get anymore awkward, it did just then. Two panicked, lavender eyes peered over her shoulder as he neither pulled away nor returned the gesture.

"There still is good in you." She whispered as he shivered under her touch.

His eyes closed, for a few seconds he was silent and enjoyed the scent of her…distinctly female somehow with the scents of baking blended in: fresh bread, herbs, vanilla, and ripe fruit. Every part of his exposed skin could only feel softness; skin, hair, cloth, she was even close enough to discern the roundness of her bosom pressed against his own vest encased chest. Time stood still, rewound, and played an alternate future inside the inner workings of his psyche.

Mrs. Bucket felt one velvet-covered arm finally succumb and slide up the back of her silk dress, pulling her slightly closer and sending a puff of heavily perfumed air toward her nostrils as well. It was like being hugged by a fuzzy chocolate bar, seductive and impossible to resist. Was this how Charlie had managed to get coated in the scent? She herself was starting to feel that she was enjoying this originally innocent gesture too much. The dominant vanilla and fruit smells blended well with his darkly chocolate essence.

A man's voice, far less like the sound she was used to hearing said quietly, "If there's still good in me, my dear woman, then why do I only see _monsters_? Why can't _I_ see the Unicorn?"

This time she was the one to shiver, more noticeably though, as the effect of an ice cube running down her spine accompanied a quagmire of emotion. "I…I don't know but someone has to fight the monsters, don't they?"

It felt like the words came from someone else's mouth.

The mother resisted the urge to shove him away, still sympathetic to his sensitivity. Instead she began gently pulling away, creating distance, but he held on to the bend of her arms and his hypnotic, possessed stare gripped her doe-like eyes, "Don't deny yerself pleasure on _my_ behalf or was I the only one enjoyin' that?"

Flustered and now keenly aware that they were alone together in the run-down house, she started to wonder where the sprite of nonsense and dreams went? There seemed to be plans in those mysterious eyes, but plans for what? Was it a trick of her nerves or had a transformation taken place? Willy Wonka suddenly looked more like a man than an over-sized child. She hadn't meant to say it earlier, but it was true that under all the gilding he was handsome. However merely having that thought was making her sick to her stomach. The mother finally responded breathlessly, "I was…I mean, we were just…"

Actually she wasn't entirely sure what they were 'just'. Why was she confused at all like this? Why was she suddenly uncertain what she was looking at? Was he a man or a giant boy? She shook her head causing the medium length, hazlenut-colored curls to fall out of place and started again, "I have this overwhelming urge to _comfort_ you, but…but my _husband_ is the only _man_ that I'm not related to that I've ever been this close to."

"I see." Wonka quickly and coldly dropped his arms with the equal speed of his enraptured face. He swiftly brushed once at some flour on his coat, "And _I'm_ not suitable to that sorta' thing. I understand completely. Not that I give a fig."

Mrs. Bucket forced herself to put on a small, encouraging smile. "No, no, don't misunderstand me. I mean I think you'd make a _fine_ husband but-"

"Really? You do? That means a whole lot to me." His eyes were oddly kind as he cut her off, but there was still a secret buried in them, a new sparkle had appeared. After a second, he added a gusty, "Well then, I do believe we have desserts to make."

Grateful for the change in the atmosphere, Mrs. Bucket released a breath and smiled more naturally, "Yes, um, I do have a pre-made chocolate coated one that you could take outside to the others."

Not wanting to offend him again, she immediately added, "T-that is if you'd like. I'm sure Charlie would enjoy seeing you and this cream cheese one will only take a few minutes."

Suddenly she was very anxious to put him and her son together again.

The voice went back up to a strained pitch, responding to her urge to dismiss his company, "OK. Yeah. I'll do that then."

Only a soft jingle from his key fob and watch chain punctuated the silence as the chocolatier headed back toward the door with the beautifully decorated dessert pie: raspberries, blackberries, oranges, and candied flower petals decorated this one. Since he kept looking toward the floor, Wonka couldn't help but notice that old and worn as the wood was, like Charlie had said, it was very clean; the woman _did_ wash the floors every other day. "Mrs. Bucket?"

She looked up from her work, uncertainty on her face. "Mmn?"

Looking back from only the corner of his eye, he stated, "Thank you for the…comfort. I needed it."

Then he was out the door like a shot. Leaving the woman with a piteous expression on her face. A few of her inner questions were answered but a lot more would seem to have arisen as a result. Only after he left did she notice the pile of fancifully wrapped gifts on their kitchen table. That's why he had been in their house -- to drop off a surprise. Her hand rose to caress the heart-shaped female charm on the golden necklace. The word 'goddess' drifted into her mind.

Once outside, a wide smirk appeared on Mr. Wonka's face. This whole experience was turning into a lot more fun than he ever expected. Yes, indeedy. Things were so seldom what they seemed. Every obstacle was simply a new opportunity in disguise, he thought. Then, with a quick jig of his feet, he continued on his way toward the rest of the family clustered in the distance on the lawn.

**Author's Notes**

_**"Who's the fairest of them all"**_** is from ****Snow White and the Seven Dwarves**

**The puppet's name WAS influenced by the a-DEPP-t actor who portrays the great Willy Wonka. Seemed appropriate. I imagine there is a Tim & a Freddie around too.**

**Charlie's outfit was inspired from this illustration drawn by loonylucifer: http://img. case ya missed it, these lines, **_**"There was simply no way of knowing which way their relationship could be going, but their affection for each other certainly was growing." **_**are a play on the ones that Mr. Wonka sings in his boat before going through his tunnel in both the original book and first film.**

**The original book inspired Mrs. Bucket's memories of her son's inner strength & sacrifice with the food.**

**I wondered why Mr. Wonka didn't learn how to deal with families better through the Oompa-loompas and so I invented this alternate tribal situation for them, a kind of communal living that would be very unlike a nuclear family structure.**

**Since I began writing this story, I've begun research on Carl Jung and his philosophies. I find him to be nothing short of a genius. What started as an aversion to Freud has turned into a fascination with his successor's concepts and a deeper understanding of myself. I would urge all creative people to read up on him. I DO think his method of psychology would work/appeal greatly to Willy Wonka.**

**I have been told that the word 'snozzberry' could be interpreted, thanks to English slang, as the head of a man's penis. Hence my description & reference in this adult-themed tale. I couldn't resist.**

_**Silly Willy**_** was my default icon on Live Journal when I first started and I think it describes the man well despite the undercurrents of his menacing side. At times, it could also be applied to me. Yes, I must always remember to keep that element of fun in my life. It's what separates the grown-ups from the grown-up children.**


	17. Volume 17

**Title:** Is It Scary, volume XVII - Careful Not to Make a Scene!

**By:** IDOL HANDS

**Rating:** Mature Demented Audiences (This chapter PG-13, overall NC-17)

**Warnings:** For dramatic and adult themes, complete use of Dahl's characters (that means ALL the Buckets), mild angst, alternate Paganism, and an under-aged/adult slash ("shota" or "chan") relationship. It is also long, but I promise that I try to keep it in complex but well-structured proportions. Bon appetit!

**Disclaimer:** The characters portrayed are not my property but that of the estate of R. Dahl, Tim Burton, Gene Wilder, Freddie Highmore and Johnny Depp. They ALL deserve Oscars as far as I'm concerned!

**Summary:** His visions have thorns, his teeth have points, his ideas posses inconceivable might, but the voice of our Manticore candymaker proves to be pure delight. Good company makes for good conversation at breakfast, lunch or suppertime. Though it could be said that Willy's way with words isn't always sublime, his constant creations of surprise, never cease to amaze anyone's eyes. However, with so many secrets swirling in abyss, some are certain to go amiss, at the very least, I promise you'll learn a new way to kiss!

**"He's got the whole world in his hands"**

Willy Wonka was elegantly sashaying up toward the four picnicking Buckets, the dessert pizza perfectly balanced upon his long, glove-covered fingers. The pale gold of this particular pair shimmered subtly in the dimming light of The Chocolate Room. His wardrobe still distinctly reflected the symbolism of a dragon in color and pattern, the prominence of his teeth in the wide grin wasn't helping to remove any menace from the overall appearance; it would have been easy to imagine smoke curling out of his nostrils. This particular dragon's impossible treasures were to be found everywhere within the well guarded 'cave' of the chocolate factory.

The family happily enjoyed their evening meal outdoors in the fairytale garden of eatable fantasies; a luxury easily afforded in a pest-free, warmth-controlled environment. It was as simple as laying down their old bed quilt on the sugar grass and taking in the surreal painting come to life that was born of the candy maker's childhood dreams. The chocolate waterfall had been turned off for the evening while the Oompa-loompas cleaned some necessary propulsion equipment as well as the walls within the endless tunnels that made-up the intestinal system of underground rooms. There was only the occasional sound of a slow ripple along the river; even temporarily without a waterfall to churn it, the viscous fluid had enough built up force and heat to sustain itself for the few hours of maintenance.

All of a sudden, everyone's good-natured conversation was disturbed by a strange sound floating upon the quiet fragrant air. They ceased to speak and all heads turned in the direction of a haunting melody, the words becoming clearer as the figure approached:

_**Come with me**_

_**And you'll be**_

_**In a world of**_

_**Pure imagination**_

_**Take a look**_

_**And you'll see**_

_**Into your imagination**_

_**We'll begin**_

_**With a spin**_

_**Traveling in**_

_**The world of my creation**_

_**What we'll see**_

_**Will defy**_

_**Explanation**_

_**If you want to view paradise**_

_**Simply look around and view it**_

_**Anything you want to,**_

_**do it**_

_**Wanna change the world?**_

_**There's nothing**_

_**to it.**_

"I didn't know that crazy, old bastard could sing." Began Grandpa George abruptly, "He's rather good at--".

"SHHHsstt!" His wife and Grandpa Joe quickly hushed him. They didn't know if the grand chocolatier meant them to overhear this special song, especially with the lack of usual little men chiding in as chorus or dancers. This could be their only chance to catch a _solo_ performance.

There was something hypnotic and sad about the slow, gentle way that Willy was allowing the lyrics to flow from his lips; his uniquely musical speaking voice and penchant for rhyming were suddenly put into perfect harmony. They couldn't help and wonder why he hadn't exposed this remarkable talent sooner as the theme song continued:

_**There is no**_

_**Life I know**_

_**To compare with**_

_**Pure imagination**_

_**Living there… **_

The man's full form was slowly released from the dark, twisted shadows caused by the overgrowth of impossible horticulture in jukebox colors. Flowing tones within his voice stretched out like the undulating ripples upon the thickly flavored water. Wonka didn't seem to mind the small audience's stares as he completed the chorus with direct eye contact to each one of them:

_**You'll be free**_

_**If you truly**_

_**Wish to be.**_

Making a dramatic tilt at the waist the chocolatier laid the disc of heavily laden fruit & candied flowers onto the middle of the quilt, melodically finishing the last line. A slight dusting of powdered sugar had fallen upon the dessert when he left their home. It was even more beautiful than when it had been first created; Willy couldn't help but mentally credit himself with the ability to improve anything with his mere touch. The Buckets had to applaud the entire performance.

Perhaps only feigning modesty, the candymaker waved their appreciation away. He brushed off the remaining white powder from his form. "Oh stop. It was only an impromptu ditty. I learned the ability from my workers, they're the _real_ masters of melody, the bringers of beat, the keepers of the Chthonic."

A hidden wealth of knowledge dazzled behind those disconnected eyes.

"My daughter really outdid herself this time." Said Grandpa Joe, breaking the curious silence that had followed Mr. Wonka's cryptic comment. He beheld the dessert revealing his own wide, toothy smile. It was interesting how despite that striking similarity, the old man's never conveyed any sense of threat as the chocolatier's would frequently suggest.

Grandma Josephine was the first who managed to look away from the inviting pie. She spoke in a tone that was half nervous from his presence and half apologetic, "Willy, we weren't expecting you. I'm afraid we ate all of dinner."

"Quite alright, Josie, quite alright." He tipped the brim of his top hat; an especially decorative, embroidered band caught her eye as he added, "Besides dessert is the best part of _any_ meal!"

The old woman looked him up and down, his slacks and tailored finery as form-fitted as usual, "Seems to me you barely eat anything _but_ sweets. You'd think you'd get sick all the time."

"Oh, quit fussing, he isn't even fat. Why he's nearly as skinny as a scarecrow." Added Grandpa George. He'd already begun to neatly slice up the chocolate dessert pizza.

"And a good job he's doing of it too. Not a crow in sight!" Enthused Grandma Georgina while looking a teeny bit suspicious toward the factory ceiling. She didn't want to take a chance that anything would swoop down and steal her after dinner treat.

"Why thank you. I do my best to ward off evil spirits." Replied Wonka with that ever-menacing grin. Still, the voice sounded sweet as he insisted on adding, "I'd prefer 'swimmer's build' to 'scarecrow' though, thanks so much. It's not like I ain't got muscles under here. I'm much more sturdy than I may look."

Grandma Josephine's mind flashed on that grip which had caused an audible pop of her son-in-law's knuckles. In fact every single one of her experiences thus far would teach her that there was most definitely more to Willy Wonka than met the eye. And that was saying a lot considering how much one did 'meet' upon seeing him!

Speaking to them as if they were a small crowd who had come to hear him lecture, the candymaker began, "And to answer yer other questions, I find that I don't really need to eat as much food as other people because I invented Supervitamin Candy! Yeah. All ya gotta do is swallow one of those every morning and ya get 150 of all yer daily allowances. Then you can eat all the candy and junkfood you want and you never have to worry for a second!"

Willy curled his tongue slightly around his upper lip, carefully positioned himself toward the ground. Grandpa Joe eagerly offered him his hand for balance. The chocolatier's hesitation dissolved as the eldest member of the family complimented him, "Ooh, that's very clever Mr. Wonka, very clever. I suppose we could all do with a piece of Supervitamin Candy every day."

Allowing himself to lean, one leg bent and the other straight, he plopped onto the grass with a quick hop and gave a satisfactory sigh at reaching the ground. "It's got everything you'd ever need; vitamins A through Z, though not S since it makes you _sick_ or H because you'll grow _horns_. But I invented and added Vitamin Wonka to the recipe!"

"Wot does _that_ one do?" Said the drawn-faced eldest bucket, his clear blue eyes looking even larger than usual beneath his coke-bottle lenses.

"It makes yer toes grow out until they're as long as fingers." Willy said.

"Good gracious! How awful!" Exclaimed Grandma Josephine while staring directly at Wonka's shoes. It suddenly occurred to her that the family had never seen the cha-cha heels off!

"Don't be silly," said Mr. Wonka. "It's most useful. You're able to play the piano with yer feet!"

Everyone sat quiet for a second in awkward silence as the candy maker was removing a slice from the dessert pizza for himself.

"You get freakier by the day Willy, but I'll be damned if you don't look exceptionally young!" Grandpa George chuckled.

Grandma Georgina grinned at the three handsome men across from herself and gave an equal sigh of satisfaction.

"Yup, fit as a fiddle. Hey Charlie, wanna feel my muscles?" Willy said with a boastful tone, his arm bent into a mock weight-lifters position. A serious look immediately erased it as he finally noticed something. The man swiftly looked all around as the others indulged their sweet tooth. It appeared that he'd gotten a little too caught up in his crooning. "Uh…where IS my heir?"

"He went to help his mother like a good little boy. Can I feel your muscles instead?" Answered Grandma Georgina with the enthusiasm of a schoolgirl. Wonka didn't answer only began to look panicked, so without any objection to stop her, the older woman began to help herself and squeeze about his bent arm.

Wonka suddenly burst out laughing, "Hey, Stop it! That tickles!"

She did with a dimpled grin and an amused, "How cute, he's ticklish like the Pillsbury Dough Boy on telly."

"I'm surprised you didn't run into him." Said Grandpa George, who wasn't ticklish in the slightest.

"The Pillsbury Dough Boy?" Asked Georgina baffled.

"No, _Charlie_." Politely corrected Grandpa Joe.

Josephine paused before putting the slice of dessert into her mouth again. "So you were all alone in the house with my daughter?"

"Uh…" Wonka was still concerned about the lack of his heir. He didn't need another thing to be nervous about. "I suppose I was. So wut?"

"Sew buttons." She responded with an old-fashioned phrase, which meant that this was not something to be taken lightly. "Sir, in my day, we did not permit _unmarried_ men to be alone around womenfolk."

"Maybe that was a good idea." Came Charlie's young voice. It was only the slightest bit flat. He was carrying the crème-filled dessert pizza that his mother had been working on. Almond paste had been piped onto the top of it and the edge was decorated with a rainbow of gumdrops.

The chocolatier looked at him with a guilty-as-all-hell look. It seemed his heir _had_ seen something objectionable. Question was, how much?

The boy calmly placed the new pie down next to the half-eaten chocolate one. The piping on top had been formed into a unicorn, clearly visible, for the edges of the figure had been carefully singed with a flame. Charlie deliberately avoided eye-contact as he also stated, "Mum said she wanted to clean up a bit before she joined us. She said to go ahead without her."

To his Grandmothers' surprise the boy chose to snuggle himself between the two of them rather than by Willy's side (which the child had been doing since his father wasn't around to object).

Both of the older women smiled, but Georgina objected with a gentle nuzzle to the other side, "It's _wives_ on this side and _husbands_ on the other."

Charlie blushed ever so slightly, but managed to recover himself with a, "Yes, well, _I'm_ not married to _anybody_ so I can sit where I like, right?"

"Aw, bless his heart. Wouldn't it be nice if he could always stay this cute?" Grandma Josephine pulled him to her chest with a big hug.

"He will." Said Wonka in a detached pitch that caused the others to look toward him. As usual, the distant look did nothing to explain his statement. He added breathlessly, "I'm sure of it."

The candyman's certainty had come as a result of asking the giant scrying mirror to show him what Charlie would look like when he got older. An idea that had struck him on that drunken evening after the kiss goodnight, he couldn't resist. The requested image had been reluctant to arrive, for a long time he only saw himself… slowly aging; something he despised looking at but could do nothing about. He'd been forced to accept the process with the rude arrival of that single silver strand. In morbid curiosity he stared at his shifting reflection. How much time was passing? Would he really decay so quickly now that it had begun?

Willy Wonka had told his workers that "he wasn't important enough" to take Wonkavite in order to preserve himself, but the truth was that he _had_ taken it and it hadn't worked. The chocolatier was more deeply upset by that event than the discovery made during his 'semi-annual haircut'. He wasn't sure he wanted to know why it didn't have an effect, so he'd kept it to himself. Why was he so different from other people? It troubled and frightened him a great deal at times. At any rate, the selfless statement had managed to improve his image with the workers who nearly sacrificed their own lives in order for him to develop the forbidden recipe in the first place!

So, staring into that reflection of the polished onyx he began to worry further. There were pronounced wrinkles, he bore more of a resemblance to his father than he liked (would he also grow a goatee one day?). Most curiously, exactly _half_ his scalp had become silver, along with one silver eyebrow on the opposite side of his altered hair. It was a strange way to go grey, but then, what did the chocolatier ever do that was normal? The twinkle in his eye was still there though – maybe even a bit more deranged. He liked that part. But…where was his heir? Had he become hideous to the golden ticket winner? Or would the boy truly leave, as his paranoia kept telling him? A lump formed in his throat.

Finally, with that thought, from behind him the image of a young man, perhaps only a young teenager in appearance came forward off of the circular bed. Slowly the figure came to stand amorously by his side. The youth was clothed only in Wonka's worn paisley shirt, which was threadbare but still slightly too large on the wearer; French cuffs falling to the knuckles with long, smooth legs left tantalizingly exposed. To the candymaker, the ragamuffin look was reminiscently charming and seductive in its vulnerability.

He was beautiful, still extremely slender but with a new grace, the chestnut hair was long with soft waves and his skin was as ethereal as his teacher's. Things reflected in the glossy black surface were heavily drowned in shadow, it was difficult to make out detail, but something was strange about the boy's gaze as well. The vision smiled to also reveal imperfect teeth but more-than-perfect dimples or Willy would not have been certain that this lovely stranger was the very same little boy who sat across from him now. The youth pressed two interlocked hands to Wonka's robe-covered shoulder, the split in the sleeves parting to reveal a thin golden ring clearly visible. It _was_ his Charlie and the lad leaned, lips puckered, in order to kiss the older man on the cheek. Wonka had closed his eyes to take in the sensations but they all disappeared, for he had broken the trance with that involuntary reaction of the scenario; completely swept away in the illusion.

The entire vision vanished despite immediately re-opening his eyes with a jagged gasp.

It proved to be an especially lonely night after that incident. He couldn't manage to re-summon the image, but he did play it out inside his mind a few times more before reaching slumber…a slightly more X-rated version that is. The 'Moon Festival' couldn't arrive soon enough as far as the chocolatier was concerned. This time he was quite ready to join in the same earthly pleasures that his workers did.

The family had left Willy to his 'flashback', they found it was best to do so and blamed their frequent occurrences on his senility, like Grandma Georgina's own shortcomings. Of course, Wonka insisted that there wasn't a thing wrong with her mind – that, to quote him, "Gina here is smarter than anyone else in the house!" The mad leading the mad they had muttered, but the cheerful elderly woman certainly took to his flattery.

Charlie hadn't expected the purple eyes to suddenly dart up again; they had been staring far off for such a long period of time. He forced himself not to look away though, wanting to see if he could read something in them, trying to be more mature about things. Unexpectedly, the boy DID recognize a flicker of lust before it faded. He knew what _that_ looked like in their multi-dimensional reflection at this point. The question was where the lustful thoughts were aimed.

The man's expression had grown piteous, desperately trying to communicate with him some sort of apology or request. The boy let out a huff and looked away again taking a reluctant bite of the vanilla confection, it was too tasty to resist despite being upset.

"So, where were you all this time?" Inquired George. "Up to more inventions then?"

Almost entirely disinterested in his own response, Willy replied, "Err, I was with my psychologist."

The family paused and said in unison, "_psychologist_?!"

"I know, hard to believe, huh?" Willy had snapped back into reality with a nervous giggle, realizing what he'd revealed. "Even us geniuses need to clear out our heads now and then. I got a whole lot goin' on up here you know, sometimes even I can't figure it all out!"

Charlie had continued to remain silent but was looking inquisitively at everyone. He had wondered who the tiny man in the three-piece suit was, but he didn't know what a 'psychologist' was. Wonka had looked so confused, pained, and distraught when he'd seen the man get off the Great Glass Elevator. This new information might help explain some things.

Grandma Josephine was squeezing Charlie to herself with one arm, it seemed in reflex to the conversation. "So you employ an Oompa-loompa to the task?"

"Naturally, I have an Oompa-loompa to do nearly anything you can think of! They're excellent at specialization, but running things as a whole isn't really their bag. Hey, ya know, you could see him too if ya want. His name is Jung."

The curly, silver haired woman looked at him with uncertainty. "Uh, thank you but I think I prefer prayer. Tell me, have you ever tried _prayer_, Mr. Wonka?"

Grandpa Joe gave her a slightly ambivalent look suggesting that she was looking to deliberately disrupt the mood.

However, Wonka's jewel-colored orbs slowly slid to the precious human bundle in her arms, answering in a deliberate manner, "Yes. And they were answered."

Snapping back into his childlike mode, the eyes darted back toward the rest of the family with apple cheeks, "I prefer tah call them _wishes_ though."

With all the humility he could muster, Grandpa Joe ventured, "Mr. Wonka since you're kind enough to offer the services of your Oompa-loompa, I'd like to remind you that you're equally free to come to us the next time you need someone to talk to."

Mr. Wonka had taken another bite of his dessert, he responded with a muffled, "Mrph, really?"

"Of course." Reassured the man he'd employed as the head of his Public Relations. "You're family."

There was another pause. The chocolatier seemed completely overwhelmed. If they weren't mistaken, there were even tears in his eyes.

It was more than even a slightly disgruntled Charlie could bear. In truth, the boy didn't want to hold a grudge against him for he was no longer sure that he knew who he was without this person. He said softly, "You know, since you're family, I should tell you that it's not polite to talk with your mouth full sir."

Innocently he took a nibble of his own slice after the statement.

Like a bold brushstroke in one of the Japanese woodblock paintings in the rather 'informative' history book from the library, an eyebrow keenly raised. Willy was pleased to be addressed by the lad, that much was evident from the ever-so-slightly upturned corner of his mouth, but playful mischief was still on his mind. "Oh rilly? I'll remember that the next time your _mouth_ is _full_ wise guy."

For reason's unknown to the family, the youngest Bucket turned the loveliest shade of crimson before he began to make helpless little coughing noises. Noises that, for Wonka, only added to his previous insinuations. Charlie excused himself to clear his throat. The candyman's eyes shifted around, feeling presented with an opportunity. Looking around he snapped off the top of one of the curiously shaped flowers growing out of the swudge. He held up an object that previously resembled a mere yellow daffodil to reveal itself as a whimsical, dainty teacup. He swayed it upward and took a sip. "Cheers. Everyone help themselves, I believe I'll deliver a daffodil to my distressed, dimpled delegate."

Placing heft on his cane, the man managed to stand once again with a repressed grunt. He distracted from the effort by adding, "And you can eat the whole thing once you've drunk the tea!"

Josephine tried to crane her neck but it was as if the shadows reached out and swallowed their forms, leaving barely a silhouette to decipher. The sound of multiple loud crunches turned her attention back to the family amusing themselves by testing Wonka's last comment. To their pleasure, the cups were indeed 'eatible' and left the lightest flavor of lemon & honeysuckle on the tongue.

"Leave them be. They'll be fine." Grandpa Joe said assuredly, plucking a fresh daffodil for his wife of many years. He offered with a smile, "Eat a cup of tea."

XXXXXXX

XXXXXXX

Charlie had a feeling he would be followed, but wasn't entirely certain until the gloved hand suddenly curled in front of his form, primly holding the flowered demitasse. How did a man with a limp manage to sneak up on people?! He reflexively flinched from surprise and glanced over his shoulder at the looming chocolatier. "Wot cough is it cough?"

"A sip of sweet nectar to sooth your soreness?" He said in a kind voice, head tilted to the side. There was an obvious second meaning to the sentence and an apologetic note in the tone.

Curse his cleverness, the boy thought as he held back any smile. Withdrawing from their closeness he slipped around the bend of the peppermint tree and drank what had been offered. The liquid did help. Willy had not attempted to get close again, he remained on the other side of the barber pole colored tree.

The next statement he heard came as a startlement. "I need to hear it."

His eyes shifted all around, indicating how desperately Wonka was trying to solve the riddle he'd just been presented with. Brightly colored lips twisted into complete uncertainty.

Another soft-spoken clue was offered, "The three words that I keep telling you. If…you really feel the same way, I-I'd just like to know be-because if you don't..."

Unable to withstand any more of the sound of his heir's cracking voice, he interrupted, "Charlie, how could ya doubt it? You have a power over me now…can't you see that? YOU'RE the one in control of breaking it."

"Breaking wot?" He'd been unable to bring himself to look at the person whom he was addressing and now found himself confronted with a riddle.

"…my dear boy.." The man peeked around the trunk, looking lost and desperate. How could the child not understand? It was too painful to actually say aloud, lowering his eyes, he formed the familiar Oompa-loompa greeting for his young companion; a flat palm pushed downward, the tip of an invisible hat and two hands curved together to form…

Charlie spoke the well-known signs out loud, "Wonka's…little.."

His heir paused as soon as he put it together. "…heart. You think _I_ can break _your_ heart? But I was just thinking…"

The chocolatier didn't raise his head. This was a painful truth to reveal, but there was also a kind of anger inside of him. For the first time in a great long time, someone finally had power over him again and he couldn't control it.

Sensing that they'd reached a sort of impasse, the child carefully reached out his hand to his mentor's clutched one, but Wonka pulled away and backed up as the boy had done to him only a moment ago. They were entwined within a difficult and delicate dance. It distressed Charlie; it distressed him even more as it appeared the candymaker was going to walk away completely. "Mr. Wonka, don't go. Please don't go. Can't you just tell me wot you and Mum were doing? That's all I really want to know."

Head still down, face still shrouded, a cold voice stated, "I thought we _trusted_ each other."

The jaw tilted up enough to reveal the swirling eyes again with a face as unusually serious as the one he'd worn when first 'proposing' their union. This was no small issue for the candymaker, the boy could have guessed that from when they first visited and Grandpa Joe had been asked, _"Were you one of those despicable spies who everyday tried to steal my life's work and sell it to those parasitic copycat candy making cads?"_

Violation of trust had nearly cost him everything he'd built his entire life upon. It was difficult to stay mad at him even after whatever he'd witnessed. It became obvious to Charlie that because of everything the man had been through Mr. Wonka was constantly waiting to be hurt, to have everything he loved or was familiar to him taken away again. Quickly he thought of the history that befell the world famous chocolate maker, his remarkable life and downfall. The twenty years of solitude followed by a contest that would eventually change his previously insignificant life forever. Of all the people on planet earth, one of those Golden Tickets fell to him; then out of that tiny group of five, from six billion people, he was chosen. That had to mean something, right?

After what felt like a mind-numbing moment to the chocolatier, his young friend looked back up to meet the wild gaze and desperately clenched teeth. The boy let out a little sigh, twisting one corner of his mouth enough to make a dimple appear. "I trust you."

In the child's mind it was as if immense webbed wings, sharp teeth, and large claws had been retracted while features hesitantly transformed from being prepared to battle into a vulnerable sort of gratitude. The previously arched fingers fiddled in their uncertainly of whatever to do with themselves now that there was no need to be defensive or threatening.

His heir finally released a tiny chuckle as he chose to settle down, cross-legged at the base of the twisting, reaching peppermint tree. With his head bent, he said, "You can be cute sometimes, you know that Mr. Wonka?"

"Moi? Cute?" The fingers found a place elegantly pressed against his upper chest. He comically batted his eyes and gave his cane a playful toss into the air. "I thought that was your job."

Seeing Charlie's comment and posture as an invitation, Wonka removed himself from the shadows of his side to join his heir.

The boy attempted to help the chocolatier get back to the ground again, with a hand of assistance as Grandpa Joe had offered, but things did not go as well as they had at the picnic for this arm was far shorter than the elderly grandparent (as Willy had oddly pointed out during the tour). The chocolatier _slid_ on the bright grass during the second half of his descent with a very surprised, "OH!"

He ended up half in Charlie's lap and giving it a second of thought, decided to stay there; removing the top hat to the boy's head (despite it being slightly too large) and snuggling his own head into the perfectly sized cradle. His heir looked down at the unexpected turn of events with amusement. "Do you _really_ have a bad leg Mr. Wonka?"

"Or am I just pullin' yers?" Arms were casually brought up and crossed over his midriff, a pinch of the teacher sound back in his voice, "Since we're bein' so very honest with each other, yes, I do. However, and I wanna make this quite clear, it has nothing tah do with my age."

Small, careful hands pushed back the sleek, long sides of his Prince Valiant haircut. Wonka's expression got suspicious, "Whattaya doing?"

"Relax, I'm only admiring your face. You look nice with your hair back." Actually Charlie couldn't help attempting to discern said ageless candymaker's true number of years on the planet. The child was fairly certain there was no point in actually asking and he honestly didn't care if his hero was as old as his Grandparents. Age was not a fearful thing to him, if anything his experiences had taught him how _valuable_ old age was; creating a person filled with treasure boxes. He stroked over the alabaster skin, from the nearly naked forehead to the unyielding cheekbones and down the strong jaw. It was a very nice face, a powerful one, especially when it stayed still for longer than a heartbeat. A heartbeat…

"Mr. Wonka?" The boy whispered again, a twinge of fear underneath his tone.

"Hmm?" Willy turned his face toward the gentle stroke of the boy's hand, resembling a giant cat enjoying a good scratch.

"I've been wondering about something, when I put my head to your chest…" Eyes flashed open again as Charlie finished his question, "I couldn't quite find your heartbeat."

Pale lavender shone back as Wonka reached up to place a stroke on his heir's features, "That's cuz I don't need one. Yer my heart now, remember?"

The candyman's answer didn't quite make sense, but it didn't quite _not_ make sense either, like a lot of things about his new universe; things that simply had to be accepted for no logic would ever explain them. Mr. Wonka alone was a walking contradiction: a remarkably brilliant, astoundingly immature, unbelievably unbreakable, yet unforgivingly fragile person who was currently residing right in his bowl-sized lap.

Cascading fingertips paused at Charlie's realization of the unbelievable fact.

Strange eyes that could no more decide on a color than the man could on an emotion slid closed. "Keep goin', I liked that brushing, like getting my portrait painted by yer little fingers instead of Madame Rose's paintbox. Hmm, I can't explain wut you've done tah me. Never really liked bein' touched until I met you. And now, it's like I can't ever get enough…huh. I thought I'd be the one to change you, but you've made me different instead."

Loving caresses began again, a pinky finger down the angular arch of his nose, the boy spoke softly, "I think I'm different too now, Mr. Wonka."

The body in his lap stiffened slightly, though the lids stayed closed, "Heh. Uh, whaddaya mean by that?"

"Nothing bad, sir." A forefinger absently traced the well-defined bow-shaped mouth. "I mean, since the day I've met you even my dreams have been different -- full of all this color and fantastical stuff, like the Chocolate Room took over the whole world. As if everything that never was came to life. Oh, it's so beautiful Mr. Wonka, you'd love it, but…there's something else in the dreams too, a-a shadowy darkness all around the edges that feels like it's going to swallow everything, like it's filled with monsters that never come out but I know they're there."

Willy had reached up and clutched Charlie's hands, he looked his protégé in the eyes again, and they darkened in hue. "Listen tah me. NO monsters are gonna getcha, not while _I'M_ around."

Images of The Secret Ingredients Room flashed through the child's memory. He'd seen and felt the protective, animalistic side of Willy Wonka -- the one that lay deep under layers of velvet, paisley, and Victorian facade. A shiver ran through his spine from the mixed feelings of comfort, arousal, and fear. The boy moved his hand up the side of the smooth skin, the cool sensation of it making the surface feel more like a breeze of air against his palm than any tangible substance, unreal like every inch of the factory. In a rather hushed, seductive way, Charlie instructed, "Close your eyes again."

Ever suspicious when something was someone else's idea rather than his own, Wonka responded, "_Whhyyy_?"

The boy hunched over his embedded companion, continuing his whispered coyness, "Because I want to share a secret with you."

Glittering lights found their way back into the magical irises, "You think you know somethin' that I don't, do ya?"

A dimpled half-twist reappeared, "You don't know _everything_, Mr. Wonka."

"Oh, yes I do." He immediately responded, only half joking as he finally shut his eyes again.

"No peeking." The boy added.

"I'm not." But the lids did squint up a little tighter, revealing that he had been.

The first thing Mr. Wonka felt was his heir's warm breath against his face. It felt nice, but the chocolatier feared that his young teacher was about to get carried away, "Charlie, much as I'd like to, we shouldn't, not out in the open like this…"

"Shhh…" The boy insisted, breathing the request right into the man's sensitive ear.

Baby-fine strands of his the boy's own hair brushed against his mentor's facial skin and down the fragment of exposed throat. There was _nothing_ more silken, even his bed-sheets lacked for the perfection of that sensation. Willy purred, "Mmmn, I like that."

A second later he felt it, a quick whisk against the thin skin of his lips:

_flit!_

_flick!_

The tickling moved upward toward the side of his nose and onto the round part of his cheek, his thick eyebrows conveyed confusion, as he tried to discern the riddle of a sensation:

_flit!_

_flick!_

_flit!_

_flick!_

_flit!_

_flick!_

The speed between the miniscule motions had increased, creating the barest of tickles across the surface of his face. That feather-like touch spread until it felt like it was tickling his entire body. Not enough to make him laugh, only enough to arouse ALL of his curiosity. Willy gasped loudly. "Uhn! I can't take anymore! Please, I must know, what is it that you're doing?"

He opened his eyes to come directly in contact with Charlie's, closer than they'd ever been before. They were the most lovely, brilliant shades of blue and green with miniscule flecks of brown and amber. Again, the candy maker was reminded of looking at Earth: the whole world…_his_ whole world.

"They're called 'butterfly kisses'? Do you like them?" He laughed, completely unaware to the depth of Wonka's thought.

"Like them?? You're driving me _mad_ with them! Show me how!" For the first time since they'd got this close, Wonka felt like he was the prisoner for a change. No, wait. There was that time before he realized how badly he needed the boy. That was painful though, this was more like pleasant torture. Placed his angelic face no more than a centimeter above the impossibly pale moonlit skin, it was explained, "It's easy, you just lean down and…"

_flit!_

Down the thick fan of his boyish eyelashes went, then upward as he opened his eyes once more:

_flick!_

"Ooh…" The chocolatier's own lids closed again.

Charlie couldn't resist doing it some more. Laughing again as he did so. "You're really enjoying this a lot more than Mum and I ever did."

The boy's tone changed as he finished, "She's um, the one who taught me actually."

Missing the child's subtle remorse at having to credit his mother with the cleverness, he responded, "Hhhhnn…well…I'm probably a lot more sensitive…it's ..uhnn…a blessing and a curse."

"I think I'm getting more sensitive too." Charlie commented while adding another dose of the pleasant torture.

His indulgent expression ceased as the twilight-colored eyes were exposed once more, a mixture of nervousness and excitement, "Really?"

"Yes. Firstly, I can read from a lot father than usual, I noticed that in your library when I spotted that book about Japan. Then last night, I could barely sleep because of all the noise. Normally I find those little noises of my family quite comforting really, but suddenly it was like trying to sleep with a symphony in there!"

"That'll never do Charles, I need you to be bright, keen, and well-rested in the morning." A mischievous smile appeared, "See? You need to start resting in yer rightful place."

Wonka was given his own personal sunset as the color flushed to his heir's cheeks right in front of him. The boy knew very well that his mentor meant the other side of his own bed was his 'rightful place'. "Th-they'll never go for it. A-a-and besides…"

Wonka raised an eyebrow and pursed his lips playfully at the youth, "Hm?"

Charlie shifted his eyes sideways, "I still wouldn't get any sleep."

A huge wolfish grin followed that admission, but he resisted saying anything more than, "Oh, you'd wear out eventually."

"Speaking of sleeping." Said a gentle, female voice. "Isn't it time for the both of you to be doing that then? Big day tomorrow with school, a test and all, right?"

"Mother!" The boy gasped with more guilt than he would've liked. Willy's hat had finally lost its battle with gravity and plunked over half his face, only stopping at the tip of his nose. Though temporarily blind, he managed, "I-I've been showing Mr. Wonka our butterfly kisses."

"Mm-hm. I saw. A mother sees everything you know." Her flowing gown brushed against the grass as her son's hands had brushed the man's face. She looked down at the chocolatier from an upside down position, "Comfortable?"

"Yes, indeedy." He grinned refusing to show the nervousness that his heir had just exhibited. "You Buckets seem to be a very comfortable people. Makes gettin' over my phobias a whole lot easier."

Using both his little hands to lift off the hat, Charlie's wide eyes stared up at his mother, "Yes, he sees um, a psy-cho-lo-gist! S-so it's good that I'm helping him, right Mum?"

There was a funny tension around the muscles of her mouth that could indicate that she holding back a smile or a lecture. "Learned a new word did you? The family was telling me about that before we got around to where the two of you had wondered off to."

Her dark eyes looked directly into Willy's, "We've all headed back into the house. I expect you'll allow Charlie to do the same momentarily?"

"Of course….momentarily." He repeated the words with visible uncertainty. By his calculations, caught in such an intimate situation, Mrs. Bucket would have been either completely unaware of the further implications or very upset. However, the equation resulted in her being in a puzzling state of Mona Lisa awareness or so it seemed.

"See you soon for beddy-bye, Monkey face." She smiled warmly at her son then turned and slowly walked away; shadows of the night engulfing the white dress as she went further into the distance.

It took only a few beats for Willy to grasp the words past his own twisting emotions, "Monkey face?"

"I don't like that nick name anymore." The boy pouted and crossed his arms, top hat teetering again. "I'm too grown up for it."

Wonka grinned. That pout was quite endearing despite his youthful annoyance. In some ways Charlie was too grown up, but in others he was still crystallized in his childhood -- such an exquisite recipe. With rare genuineness, the chocolatier forced himself to ask, "Charlie…would ya really and truly want tah be by my side, even…for as long as I should live?"

The child twitched his head downward from the shock of being asked such a thing. The hat plunked down again. Wonka reached up with his right arm and finally removed it. Anxiously, the boy stated, "Oh, Mr. Wonka, I could do it every bit as good as my Mum! I've watched her take care of my grandparents for _years_ and _years_!"

The man sat up, placing the top hat back onto its 'rightful position'. Years and years? Fantastic as this human being was, he also wasn't much older than a person could count on two hands. "Yes well, I can be as dotty as yer Grandma Georgina, grumpy as yer Grandpa George, as fulla' mirth as Grandpa Joe, and in your business like Grandma Josephine, so I reckon that'll make pretty good practice."

Charlie had popped himself onto all fours, and crawled a step toward his benefactor. Awe on his face from the comparison of Mr. Wonka being the amalgam of all his grandparents. The brush of something sturdier than eyelashes met the man's cheek, two small arms wrapped around from behind, and whispered into his ear those three all-important words. Unknown to the candymaker, the child had learned this pose of reassurance from watching his very own parents. And unknown to Charlie, Willy finally got his lost kiss.

He held still and enjoyed the pose for an instant, desperately tempted to return the phrase, but unable to do so because of the chains that still trapped his soul. Instead, he lightly tapped the young hand and muttered, "I know ya do."

"So…help me stand." Returned his usual silliness.

XXXXXXX

XXXXXXX

The boy had done so and Willy insisted that he be on his way without him, stating that he needed to remain a moment longer within the Chocolate Room to ensure that the engines would be turned back on momentarily. He stood alone, in silence, in the darkness; until a large click proceeded the familiar drown of churning which eventually led to the rush of the waterfall. No other factory in the world could do it. He sighed and clasped closed his equally one-of-a-kind pocket watch. The labored sound of his footsteps back to the Great Glass Elevator were completely lost, as was the singular sob that he'd wiped away with his handkerchief. He wasn't sure if what was happening to him was wonderful or awful, certainly lay only in the knowledge that he didn't want it to stop.

As the elevator lifted up and he decided to look down upon the recently added dwelling, a soft glowing white light caught his attention. He sniffled and squinted. It couldn't be. But it was. As sure as he was standing, he caught the fastest glimpse of the singular horned animal running free and before he'd been transported completely out of sight, the mythical creature even looked _directly_ at him!

In excitement, his hands slid across the buttons of the wall, causing him to use blasphemy in a bizarre string of words. For what he truly wanted to do was return and get a better look! Fast as his transparent contraption was, by the time it swung back around to the ever-growing secret garden, the horse was gone.

Still, he was grateful, perhaps more grateful than anyone could understand.

**Author's Notes**

**Manticores are extremely unpleasant mythical animals with the bodies of lions and the faces of men who sing as beautifully as a choirboy, luring humans to be their meals. **

"_**He's got the whole world in his hands**_**" is a simple spiritual song often taught to children.**

**Gene Wilder originally sang "Pure Imagination" in the first movie interpretation of the book. It bothered me that Johnny did not attempt to sing in the film (did you know that Depp wanted very badly to be a musician in the early parts of his career and life?) so I made up for it here with my own 'imagination'. Although Charlie had heard the candymaker's singing voice, the Buckets had not, plus this song was sung with more meaning and rhapsody.**

**The eatible daffodils teacups are also from the first movie. "Piscaria" managed to mention them too in her wonderful CatCF fic ****Distance Makes the Heart****. Look that up, I'm a big fan and she's patiently taught me so many valuable things about writing and life.**

**"Chthonic": adj. relating to the underworld (and the subconscious) as described in Greek mythology. Extra special thanks again to Piscaria who provided me with this golden key of knowledge, allowing me deeper understand the mythos that I'm attempting to weave. Serpents are seen as a powerful symbol to the chthonic. Jung wrote, "The serpent is the age-old representative of the lower worlds, of the belly with its contents and the intestines." Dragons are even more symbolic in such interpretations. You keep reading about such things and you'll catch on to something.**

**"Supervitamin Candy" is in the original book and the lines about Vitamin Wonka and one's toes are quoted directly. Sorta makes you wonder, huh? **

**Wonka's appearance in the scrying mirror is meant to head him in the direction of the Quentin Blake and Roald Dahl's original concepts, but with a bit of my own imaginings. The hairstyle is inspired by the British rock star Iggy Pop who **_**really**_** did don that style in the 70's – seemed like the confectioner would be the only human being in the world who might actually age in such an eccentric way. You may also see the look on Cruella Deville from ****101 Dalmatians**** (although her eyebrows do match). Btw, Wonka and Cruella make an interesting duo. evil grin**

**Anyone catch the subtle reference to "chocolate" and "vanilla"? Those are sexual terms that represent how experienced you are and usually how kinky you like things. People will ask how "vanilla" you are and such.**

"**Moi?" As all Miss Piggy fans know, is French for "Me".**

"_**Listen tah me. NO monsters are gonna getcha, not while I'M around."**_** - whoops, I think I referenced Sweeney Todd without meaning to.**

"**Butterfly Kisses", go ahead and try them out on someone you care about. I know you want to.**

**Permission was given to post this sketch by "loimaga" (off Live Journal and Deviant Art) from Volume 14: OF Teen!Charlie from Willy Wonka's image in the scrying mirror: COMMENTS ARE WELCOME, BUT PLEASE BE POLITE. I'M ALWAYS INTERESTED IN MEETING NEW FANS OF CatCF.**


	18. Volume 18 Warning!

**Title:** Is It Scary, volume XVIII - Lean, Mean, Candy Making-Machine!

**By:** IDOL HANDS

**Rating:** Mature Demented Audiences (R)

**Warnings:** Dark Themes combined with sweet ones, Anthropomorphism, Alternate Paganism, Violence, dark!Wonka, and an _explicit_ under-aged/adult slash ("shota" or "chan") relationship. Oh, and Oompa-loompas singing! That's always a bad sign...

**Disclaimer:** The characters portrayed are not my property but that of the estate of Roald Dahl, Tim Burton, Freddie Highmore, Deep Roy, and Johnny Depp. By the same token, they do not own my imagination or myself either. So there! We're even. (Not that they care.)

**Summary:** The subconscious mind, whether we sleep or not, can spin metaphors and weave tapestries leaving us confused as to our own beliefs and inner desires. Getting to school becomes more adventurous than Charlie could have ever expected, though even more so for those who dare to disturb the chocolate maker's plans either inside or outside his stone palace of candy & dreams. But _how much_ can even Willy Wonka control? Left alone with a trusted family member will the boy finally spill his guts? One thing is certain; it takes guts to read this tale.

**"It always feels like, somebody's watching me."**

Swudge had the lightest, most pleasant minty flavor that you ever tasted. It practically evaporated as soon as you began to eat it, leaving behind the sweetness of cream and an icy quality to your breath when you'd inhale. Charlie had a mouthful of the refreshing confection speedily dissolving down his own gullet. As the boy leaned his head down to gobble up a bit more, he realized that his posture meant he was on all fours! That was wrong and a bit too close to Augustus and his fate for the child's liking. However, when he looked at his hands, he found dainty cloven hooves instead. It was then that he realized he was a pink-furred half-sheep boy and as everybody knew, it was perfectly fine for them to spend their time eating mouthfuls of swudge. Silly him for forgetting! Charlie happily wiggled his fluffy stub of a tail and returned to grazing.

It was still nighttime and he appeared to be in something like the Chocolate Room only there was no sign of an Oompa-loompa plus…there was a sky. Still munching, the sheep boy looked wide-eyed up at the lovely twinkling stars and full yellow moon; the golden glow resembling one coming from the windows of the tilted cottage in the distance. The tranquility of the scene was unexpectedly torn as a long, lonesome howl broke out. It was then that he also realized how far from his house and herd he'd migrated. A rustle came from the nearby gumball bushes and exploding candy shrubs. Looking into the shadows he saw a pair of glowing eyes and sharp, white teeth exposed in a smile from ear to ear; a tongue slowly licked across them. It was a wolf-man! Oh no! He'd been warned to stay away from such awful creatures.

A panicked noise, between a shout and a bleat, preceded a mad dash toward the house. The rush of leaves and candy exploding were followed by the swift thumping of clawed feet, alerted Charlie to the fact that he was being chased! He ran faster but the house seemed to only be getting further away as the animal gained on him. A second pitiful noise was emitted as the sizable creature tackled the small bundle, rolling the sheep-boy onto his back. Expecting to be gnawed on and sliced to ribbons, there was great confusion when the only thing that happened was his face being licked. The boy opened his eyes, blinking. Above him was a familiar smiling face outlined with the dark auburn fur and a pair of long keen ears that rose as pertly as the expression on his face along with a brush of tail wagging excitedly behind the silhouette. Where exposed, the skin was paler than anything he'd ever seen, a band of it exposing chest and abdominal muscles then trailing where he dare not allowed his eyes to fully explore. He remembered that this particular wolf-man was a friend; that this one wouldn't eat him. He just liked to _taste_.

They bounded around the lawn playing catch-me-if-you can in the night for a while, until they ended up in a rough wrestling game and the wolf man wouldn't let him run away again. A familiar voice, masked by an unusual husky quality asked. "Why do you keep trying to get away, little boy? Why do you always run from me?"

"Be-because my family…they wouldn't like this." The sheep-boy answered honestly, his wrists gripped tightly.

"A little longer," He licked at the boy's gasping throat, "Can't we _play_…just a bit longer?"

More licking and nips followed the question as the child moaned and answered, "Uhn, alright …just a bit though…_uhhn_.."

The playful nipping had gone down his chest and back up to his mouth. The strong wet muscle was placed across the child's bow-shaped lips with pressure. The boy could feel that the creature on top of him had become aroused and he'd be lying if he denied similar feelings within himself. This was a dangerous game they were playing, with his feelings being the real thing threatening to consume him. He bleated toward the lustful gaze, "I have to go home!" and twisted to run away again.

Instead he was gripped very tightly from behind as a familiar phrase was growled into the curl of his ear, "I want more, Charlie. Give me more."

He could feel the wolf-man's own fur brushing up against his exposed flesh, too silky to resist. Both of them were on all fours; probing fingers played with his tail, twirling it a moment before a sensation of being penetrated occurred. "Ahn! No! Stop!"

But the sensation only deepened.

And in a moment, it's good, _very_ good. "Ugghn…_mnn_…yessss…."

He felt the sensations of being slid in and out of, the rhythm increased, the motions building and getting rougher as his own heart created the beat to which they were coupling. Deeper growls are emitted and the child feels so small underneath him, overwhelmed and embraced at the same time.

A sharp pain registers as Charlie's neck is bitten and blood is drawn, but there is little time to focus as both of them reach intense climaxes. Heaving and still interlocked, the boy feels that wonderfully intoxicating, tingling sensation that such activity with this beast leads to. It immediately spreads through his entire bloodstream. The bliss of it causes him to collapse into the soft, long blades of sweet swudge that he was innocently nibbling earlier. He rolled onto his back and looked up at his wild lover with weary, enchanted eyes.

The wolf-man leaned down and started gently licking at the wound that was inflicted. He speaks again, "I never tire of this game of ours little lamb, but I get so cold all alone in my liar. Why won't you stay with me?"

Through quick pants he replied, "They..need..me."

"I _need_ you." Growled back the beast.

"I told you, they wouldn't like it." The lamb says sadly.

"But you don't have to worry about them anymore…" The wolf-man's face came more clearly into focus, melting unquestioningly into Mr. Wonka, though the demonic animal eyes eerily stayed the same. The man finished his statement by saying in a disturbingly pleasant tone. "…I killed them all."

A huge gasp filled the small upstairs nook of a bedroom as the boy bolted upright. Still in a daze about what was real and what was fantasy, the child hears his mother's voice sing up, "Chaarrrlieee, rise and shine sleepyhead!"

"I'm awake." He responds partly as a response to his mother and partly to reassure himself. To his embarrassment there was a wet, sticky spot between his legs and on his new short kimono sleepwear.

A more urgent message was called up, "You need to get ready quickly sweetheart, there's a problem!"

XXXXXXX

XXXXXXX

At dusk a crowd had begun to gather outside the gates. By the time the sun had risen…it had _tripled_ in size. The people were of many ages and backgrounds, but those in front had come from the media and were prepared with prying cameras and hungry microphones. They wanted a 'scoop'. But not the yummy sort with sprinkles or chopped nuts on top. No, they wanted the icky sort with grease or lies on top. Word had gotten out, as it often will to the peril of those being discussed, that Charlie Bucket was going to attend school today, that he would _have_ to leave the factory for the first time in months and they could make a newsworthy day of it; the press, the tabloids, the curious, the bored, the huddled masses yearning to abuse freedom at the expense of bombarding a special little person going about his daily business.

On the surface, this scene of anxious Looky-Lous was not dissimilar from the day that Willy Wonka had first opened the factory. Ah, but the chocolatier was quite a different man then and so was his once pristine factory. At this point, Father Time had left a dark residue upon them both and so it would seem the world in general. _Nothing_ had improved outside of the gates during the man's absence – near as he could tell, the entire planet was on a pathetic downward spiral. And further, _these_ leering individuals had NOT been invited as in times past.

A great metallic yawn accompanied the slim parting of the tarnished hundred foot front doors. The crowd's excitement was palatable as what appeared to be, "the genius who just can't be beat" _himself_ was approaching their direction from out of the darkened opening. One echoing click was followed by a short scrape then another click, heard in slow succession against the cement path covered in an eggshell of snow. There were a few murmurs, mumbles, and whispers; the very sort of thing that aggravated Mr. Wonka to no end because he actually could make out about half of what was being said, he couldn't simply tune it out as most people did. In his youth he heard the ugly things that people said when they thought no one could hear them, he learned quickly how two-faced people could be. Of course the gawkers _were_ talking about him too, as they had in days past. Right now they spoke of their shock that he was a "cripple" or so "decrepit" (as they so _delightfully_ put it) to walk at such a halting pace. He could also distinctly make out "Ch" noises in sentences ending in an upswing pitch that indicated questions and took notice with his eagle eyesight that some of the camera-people's attention spans was straying. Mustn't have that. He didn't come out here in the biting cold for these vulchers and orangutans to cease their gaping in his direction.

Not too far a distance from the gates, Mr. Wonka's famous walking cane got stuck into a crevice. He walked another two steps then halted, hand ghostly clasping for the missing stick. Actually, the candymaker had been playing up his limp a great deal even though his leg was feeling exceedingly good. He half suspected that there was magic to Charlie's (the cause of the "Ch" sounds in the audience) kisses or that even the barest glimpse of a Unicorn could have restorative abilities. Whatever the reason, Willy was extremely thankful to be feeling at the top of his game because he was about to pull a stunt that he hadn't done in a very…long…time…

Hundreds of people together let out gasps and sounds of shock as the form began to slowly collapse forward. Dismay stunned the crowd as his spine curved all the way to the ground. But a fraction of a second later the body had somersaulted and sprung back up in a movement worthy of a trained gymnast rather than a feeble old man. Saucer-sized sunglasses were immediately placed back onto his head along with the signature top hat - each having been carefully held in a hand, suspended from touching the ground during the swift movement.

As Wonka placed today's rich navy colored haberdashery with white piping upon his head, he remembered how exactingly he'd instructed his barber to 'slick back' the sides of his hair that morning. Charlie had said he looked nice that way while he'd lain peacefully in the child's lap. At this exact moment however, the candymaker was desperately missing that extra sense of coverage the usual coiff afforded him. A small silver hoop was exposed in his left ear, the piercing a holdover from his trip to India long ago. He'd dressed somewhat conservatively in a navy pinstripe vest with matching trousers. But they were no ordinary pinstripes for they were made of metallic, rainbow thread that picked up on the fading rainbow velvet of his coat, drawing from crimson red to deepest violet. A well-starched white shirt with jacquard polka dots flared up toward his throat and down at his wrists nearly covering the usual plastic, purple sheaths that enveloped his extraordinary hands and masked a very important, marred ring. Shiny black shoes embossed with the same initial that flashed at his Adam's apple and harkened to the banner atop grand gates that did not budge one iota as Mr. Wonka stared at his admirers through his sunglasses. The outfit perfectly complimented the one his young companion had chosen to wear for today, but the crowd would have no way of knowing that for he wouldn't dream of subjecting such a fragile, precious thing to these _droolers_; not at the risk of the boy nor at the risk of a single secret possibly being exposed.

The crowd had been applauding steadily for a minute, completely bowled over at the candymaker's impromptu performance. A sparkling, toothy smile masked the man's true feelings about the situation. If they knew him at all, they'd know that this smile was used when he was _especially_ annoyed. Microphones were desperately, clumsily shoved through the slats, in between the bars. Willy was at a perfect distance, allowing them close but standing exactly far enough away to prevent them from ever touching him. He thought of cages at a zoo. He thought of the bars that once encased his own face. Must keep _them_ out. A lingering thought of his father swam unwanted through his mind. Shaking hands were quickly stuffed into his pockets and fiddled with a piece of string taken from Grandma Georgina's knitting basket that he had tied nine knots into. Oh, how he wished Charlie were with him, but of course, these people were the very reason that his special partner was not.

The man stared at the hoard of strangers and the hoard of strangers stared right back at the solitary individual. An uncomfortable swallow proceeded a shifting of his nicely squared shoulders inside the fur-trimmed black overcoat, worn over the dashing outfit. He spontaneously quipped in a dramatic fashion:

"_Up the airy mountain, _

_Down the rushing glen, _

_We dare not go a-hunting, _

_For fear of little men."_

There was an awkward, confused silence. It lasted only briefly though.

"Are you Willy Wonka?!" Shouted a man in a dull-looking, modern suit. He practically had on enough bronzer to pass for an overgrown Oompa-loompa (speaking of little men).

"I should hope so since I'm wearin' his underwear." Wonka responded with comic sarcasm, grin plastered firmly in place. While excitement had a habit of turning him into a buffoon, anger tended to make him especially glib.

Chuckles came from the crowd followed by a deafening onslaught of more comments and questions:

"Any comment on Veruca Salt _murdering_ her parents?"

"Are the stories about the inside of your factory true?!"

"What's your Wonkavision project all about?"

"Tell us about your new candy and chocolate inventions!"

"Don't suppose you'd consider letting _us_ in for a tour?"

It was going to be extremely painful to find a way to continue entertaining these squawking idiots, but he had to make this sacrifice. As he had told Charlie, such things would be necessary in their union together, ones far more difficult than this. Today, the burden would be his to bear. Wonka knew the reporter's curiosity in HIS rare appearance would be enough to keep them distracted temporarily while other balls were put into play…

XXXXXXX

XXXXXXX

"Grandpa Joe, slow down, you're going too fast!" The young boy's hand was tightly clasped in the elderly man's bone thin one, though the child's legs were long for his age, they were no match for his relative's far longer ones. The eldest Bucket was rushing out of a hidden exit located at the back-end of the factory. Many of the small workers had headed down tunnels far lower in the factory, but two Oompa-loompas had stayed to guide them down the confusing chamber of never-ending tunnels in accordance with Wonka's quick plans for avoiding the scene at the front, while ensuring that his heir wouldn't be late for exams that ensured he could continue under his full-time tutelage.

The old man loosened his hold as they rushed through the back streets of their chilly town. "I'm sorry, Charlie. I'm not used to me new strength yet, or rather…my _old_ strength."

His grandfather's very laughter sounded more youthful as he gushed. "Genius! The man is an _absolute_ genius! NO! A miracle worker! That's what he is!"

For you see, after Mr. Wonka had decided which one of the Bucket's he trusted the most to RETURN with 'his heart' back to the factory, he also figured that a dose of insurance should be added to the equation. That morning, after news of the commotion outside, the inventor brought with him the black bottle of Wonkavite. He'd placed it upon the table, among the breakfast, along with an animated explanation of its magical restorative abilities. A golden light burst out when he removed the cork plug causing shocked alarm. The light seemed to sparkle with fairy dust as it faded in the air.

For the sake of his grandson and despite concerns from the others, Grandpa Joe was brave enough to try a pill of the glowing, vibrating Wonkavite. Everyone sat motionless as he placed it in his mouth and swallowed. Willy had stood surveying the scene with a disturbingly pleased grin on his face. True to the chocolatier's words, the man felt twenty years younger in only a minute. The nearly one hundred year old man barely looked any different though, much as he hadn't when he had gone to work in that first candy shop on Cherry Street. However, he started _acting_ as if the pill made him closer to seven instead of seventy! He'd even exclaimed another "Yippee!" and insisted that his wife join him in his jig this time!

As a last warning the chocolatier had stated, "Now, ya gotta remember to follow the warnings. Mustn't eat too many, one pill is _plenty_. 'Kay? All right then, let's get a move on!"

The old man was currently tucked into an alleyway, checking left then right that no one was following them. "I'm only worried for Mr. Wonka, the faster we get to your school, the sooner he can go back inside his factory. I must say though, this is all terribly exciting, isn't it?"

Dimples appeared as the boy nodded and grinned, both at that fact and at his grandfather's giddiness. "Do you think I look alright Grandfather? I-I had wanted to look nice for um, well...heh, everybody I suppose. Um, wasn't it funny how me and, I mean, Mr. Wonka _and I_ ended up matching without knowing what the other was going to wear?"

His grandfather blinked at the boy's nervousness, but stated, "Come on. The coast is clear. Let's go another stretch!"

Once they had crossed another block and determined they were not being observed, did the older man turn to examine the child for a second time that morning. The sweater was slightly oversized, banded tightly by trim, sleeves, and a bottom made from a thick, ribbed charcoal material. Thin stripes of the darker color separated the bold, psychedelic rainbow ones that decorated the entire front and back. His shorts were made of a soft, woolen material with detailed stitching and were cuffed; two buttoned pockets emphasized the back. Long, rainbow striped socks that also bore a thick, ribbed charcoal trim, helped to make up for the lack of pant material. Dark grey served as a nice color against the boy's fair skin and pinkish undertones. A short proper coat and a beret with a tassel had been added to the ensemble to encourage warmth. Charlie had originally wanted to wear his hand-knitted hoodie by his Grandma Georgina but that was ruled out on account of the bright color being too attention grabbing. But what DID catch the old Bucket's eye was the thin leather strip of blue-green material tied around the boy's swan-like throat. Willy had fiddled his fingers and plucked it from the array inside one of the gift boxes himself. "What did he call this again?"

"A bolo." Charlie said with a slight tenseness. He reached up and tugged at the knot that his mentor had so exactingly placed there. He recalled how, with his back to the family, the man had pulled on it a little more than he needed to – a knowing glance had been exchanged before the ends of the strip were slipped under his collar by cool, gloved hands. Every action made more intense for sake of the disturbing dream that he'd awoken to. The boy continued, attempting to distract from the kinkier notions. "He made me one in every color, sort of my new trademark. They can be worn in lots of ways!"

"Hm." Grandpa Joe tilted his head upward and examined it briefly. "Don't pull on it too tightly, that's a good knot Mr. Wonka tied."

They crossed another few streets, the boy clinging to his shoulder bag in one hand and what looked like a paint bucket in the other as they dashed. Grandpa Joe laughed again as Charlie made a face and stuck his tongue out at the row of Mr. Wonka's competitors: Ficklegruber, Prodnose, and Slugworth. The side-by-side stores still bore "CLOSED" signs in their windows, they'd never see, otherwise the Bucket child would never be so rude. The old man joined in the fun and added a reverse two-finger salute along with a raspberry noise as they both laughed louder.

Finally, across from the courtyard of the school, Charlie's escort turned to him and stated with encouragement, "You look exactly like the little Prince that Willy keeps calling you and I'm not surprised one bit that the two of you chose similar outfits. You both seem quite talented at reading the other one's mind."

A VERY proud look was on his face then he placed a long, narrow hand on either side of the boy's compact shoulders. He lowered his head. The boy's equally beaming smile faded, "Grandpa, wot is it? Is something wrong?"

"Charlie, some of the family is concerned. I promised…they've asked me to talk to you, because…this is the only time we've been outside of the factory…" He picked his head up but only glanced at his grandson's face for a second. As the early morning sunshine hit the side of his sagging face, the child's keen eyesight saw less of the feathery lines along with the odd chestnut strand within the wealth of silver at the edges. On a man as old as Joe, the visual effects of Wonkavite were subtle, but they were there. "This is your chance to be _completely_ honest. They…they're worried about…your _friendship_ with Willy…."

The Golden Ticket winner's eyes were getting glossy; he reached up and placed his hands onto his grandfather' arms. Emotion overwhelmed Grandpa Joe at the same time, water built up in his eyes as well. Of all of the boy's family members, he felt THE closest to this one, even more than his mother and father – it was like they could have been brothers instead of Grandparent and grandson, it was why the others must have put him up to this unsavory task. The child suddenly thought he was going to loose all control and start confessing everything from guilt right then and there.

"Charlie, all _I_ want to know, all _I_ need to know is this…" He made eye contact, the boy had a tear streaming down one cheek. There was a gravely serious tone as he continued, "Is Mr. Wonka doing anything, absolutely _anything_ that you DON'T like? That you want him to _stop_ doing?"

A jagged breath of air was released from the child along with another tear from the opposite eye. It was such a fair and careful question. The boy closed his lids as he gained composure, lashes wet with the salty water. He looked back up, irises gem-like in the depth of their color, lips sad and trembling.

A couple of children walked by idly chatting, glancing at the pair:

"Whose the new boy?"

"Poor duck looks scared stiff."

They both held their poses and waited while the two passed.

Charlie shook his head in a negative. Lying wasn't necessary, that was the honest to God's truth. Thinking on the dream, he knew that he didn't want Mr. Wonka to _stop_; rather he wanted him to go _further_. Within him, there was a hidden part that liked very much the way the chocolatier charmed, tempted, and scared his entire being; a part that embraced "the monster". But that was because he also knew that within his mentor was a person who was scared himself, who suffered from intense loneliness and insecurity; someone less like a sheep in wolf's clothing and more like a lost, black sheep in wolf's clothing. Searching his soul, he knew his true answer even if insecurities haunted his slumber.

"Honest? You promise me?" Eyes of the palest shade of turquoise rimmed in cobalt peered over a large hooked nose and through thick lenses. Shoulders were squeezed a little tighter with that new strength: anxiety, but nary a trace of anger. His rubber band mouth held an open pose as he waited for reassurance.

"Honest. I _love_ him…with all my heart." Charlie responded. The tone was even more intense then the first time the child had professed such affection for his benefactor.

The old man kept staring at his grandson and the boy didn't look away, his eyes sweet, vulnerable, and telling. A silent understanding was exchanged. No further questions needed to be asked.

Grandpa Joe smiled slightly in return and began to speak, his voice was as musical as the chocolatier's, it only moved to a slower melody. "Then that's good enough for me. Everyone wants to focus on how different _you_ are, but Willy is different now too. I can see it. I know he cares just as deeply for you. I don't pretend to understand everything he does, but I do believe he's a far more remarkable person than any of us realize. You're so very lucky that he wants to share his world with you and…I dare say he's lucky to have you as well."

They gripped each other in a strong hug. The child sniffled into his grandfather's old coat (purposely worn to attract less attention). He smelled of the rose-based cologne that the candymaker recently created. Leaning his head on the protruding shoulder, the boy said with weight in his pitch, "Thank you, Grandpa Joe. Thank you for understanding."

A tear came from the old man too as he stared up at the bleak light that managed to penetrate the usually murky sky of their town. His family probably would have insisted on more specific probing, but this child wasn't the only one trying to hold on to a dream and a hero. What was most important to him was that the boy was happy. He began to recollect his old job at that first shop on Cherry Street and how their employer intimidated the other workers with his peculiarities, aloof nature, and standards of perfection. However, Joe _always_ volunteered to speak to the man whenever there was a problem or message to be conveyed, any chance to see the visionary even if briefly.

There were times, when despite being married to a woman he completely cherished, and despite being a very senior citizen, the chocolatier would leave him confusingly flustered; making him feel terribly young and alive at the same time. He knew it was foolish, but he couldn't help it, the sensation was as addictive as his chocolate. Willy Wonka was positively magnetic: even people who _disliked_ him, still couldn't stop staring or talking about him.

"Grandpa?" Charlie sniffled.

"Yes?"

He pulled away to look at the man's warm, familiar face and stated, "Do you think it's possible that TWO of us _wishing_ and _dreaming_ so hard at the exact same time put that money in the snow by that corner shop on Main Street so that I could find that very last, _true_ golden ticket?"

That proud smile returned as he answered, "I think your Grandma Georgina was right when she said anything is possible, like having a grandson who is as obsessed with Willy Wonka and his creations as me."

Grandpa Joe had pulled out a plain white cotton hanky and blew his nose with a loud honk. "Alright, young man. No more faffing around. You go in there and you gobsmack them all! Show your family and that school what less than a month inside the world's most amazing chocolate factory can do!"

A tiny smile replaced the sad look, cracking into a slightly bigger one at the sight of his grandfather's anxious expression. The boy was feeling like himself again, the blotches on his barely freckled face fading fast, "Wot'll you do until I get out?"

"Weeell, you only need to stay half the day, so Mr. Wonka thought I could go about the town and see what the _buzz_ is, _bee_ his eyes and ears as he put it." Grandpa Joe had emphasized the 'buzz' noise and fluttered his hands like tiny bee wings as the candyman did when he explained it. He pondered, "Hm, I believe I'll start by seeing that kind shop owner since you mentioned it. I'd like to reward him for defending you. After all, I've got some spare change since I started working again!"

"I think that's a fantabulous idea!" The child quoted his mentor's use of English, kissing his Grandfather on the cheek good-bye. The elderly man stood upright and watched as Charlie dashed toward the school. He looked adorable, like a painting of children from a by-gone era. He enthusiastically waved with his free left hand -- a bright flare caught the gold ring causing it to noticeably twinkle even from a distance.

"Don't forget to signal him! And your gloves!" Called Grandpa Joe. It was just…easier to disguise the 'friendship token' than to explain it and besides, Willy much preferred Charlie to cover his hands anyway. He observed as a look of startlement went across Charlie's face. The boy immediately pulled out his special pocket watch, pressing a button on the side of it. Then he carefully slid it back into his pocket; a delicate gold chain connecting it to one of the short's belt loops. Mr. Wonka had said he'd "take care" of the crowd once he knew his heir was safe at school; that he'd make sure they wouldn't come pester him or show up _after_ the test-taking was done. As the rainbow-clad child entered the building tugging on his yellow gloves, he wondered, "Precisely how will that be arranged?"

XXXXXXX

XXXXXXX

A perverse satisfaction rested directly under the mask of kindness on the candymaker's face. His slightly larger platinum watch had just vibrated inside his vest pocket; the signal that this charade could finally come to an end. He reached in and pulled it out as if checking on the time.

After a lengthy and confusing dissertation on a myriad of subjects that nearly always seemed completely unrelated to the questions posed, frequent accusations of mumbling, as well as the occasional insinuated or forthright insult, Mr. Wonka now elegantly bowed before them. While bent over, his concealed eyes looked back toward the slatted windows where only he could see small, unseen shadows shuffle upon sight of the gallant gesture.

A bold female reporter exclaimed, "Mr. Wonka have you been filling our heads with lies? Half of what you say sounds completely balmy!"

Willy tilted back up and mechanically spun his head in her direction, "My dear old fish, go and boil yer head!"

Some of the others chuckled at her expense. Whether Willy Wonka was brilliant or bonkers might have been up for speculation, but there was no debating the fact that he was definitely _entertaining_! The audience began to stir somewhat as an odorous smell had seized their noses replacing the heavenly swirl of sugary fragrances that poured from the great chimneystacks. It was quickly growing to a stench, but their curiosity could not be waned. Nobody left.

"How dare you speak to me like that!" Retorted the reporter.

"NO, How dare YOU speak to ME like that. Who's the candy whiz here? Now, do shut up." The chocolatier's brightly colored lips could clearly be seen to sneer.

A thin layer of greenish black crude had bubbled up from the two sewer grates directly outside the factory gates. It was quickly spreading across the pavement and sliding down the main road toward the bulk of people; melting the snow and hissing at the footwear that it came in contact with. Camera and microphone cords began to melt as it ate through the protective plastic of their wires. Still, they were too busy staring to notice.

Wonka took a step backward, making absolutely certain that his fine boots would be nowhere near the slick.

"As I was about tah say before I was SO _rudely_ interrupted was, Ladies and Gentlemen, Meine Damen und Herren, that I am afraid I'm gonna have tah bid you 'adieu'. Parting is such sweet sorrow. But ya see, I have so little to do and so much time to do it in! Oh, er, strike that and reverse it." A broad, white grin as his arms crisscrossed and pointed in opposing directions. The man began to walk away with a giggle; one hand swirled up into the air. "Heh. I do that all the time! A few days ago I actually meant it though 'cuz I wanted tah spend the entire day getting to _know_ my heir."

That comment suddenly reminded the audience of their true purpose for the day, causing several of them to shout, microphones shoved through the bars with vibrating anticipation, "WAIT! Where _is_ Charlie Bucket?!"

The man plucked the cane from its resting spot and shrugged, "Why he's at school of course!"

With a cruel smile that clutched his teeth together, Wonka said in a voice too low to be heard, "No thanks tah the likes of you."

And precisely after those words, large bubbles began forming and equipment began shorting in frightening sparks, at last causing the uninvited audience to realize what an alarming situation they were in. They began to shriek and push each other roughly to get away. Not one was concerned for the welfare of the other. Some fell down and began screaming louder as their clothing sizzled.

It was quite a scene to behold and one man was being very nicely entertained by what had become _his_ own personal show while comfortably within his own walls. Hazmat trucks for contamination and ambulances in case of emergency had arrived less than a minute later, but those who had touched the ground found little of their clothes were left. Mr. Wonka took great satisfaction in the exposed frilly garments worn under the brazen newswoman's outfit. One dark brown eyebrow quirked up high as he wondered how long _those_ would last.

"Goodness me! What on Earth is coming out of those sewers?!" Mrs. Bucket had come to stand beside him, also taking in the sights from the nearby vantage point.

"_Acid_." The man replied in nearly an erotic tone, still staring out hypnotized.

"ACID! Won't that _kill_ them?!" She leaned closer with great concern on her face.

"They'll be contaminated, but not killed." He answered disinterested, "That fluid only eats _non_-organic substances."

A suspicious glance caught from his peripheral hastened the chocolatier to add, "Uh, it's happened before. Yeah, that utilities commission really needs tah get their act together. It's probably all that public dumping that goes on by _other_ companies. Terribly polluting. Er, after a day of being locked up and sterilized they'll all be as right as rain!"

The two had their faces unusually close to each other in order to see out the extremely narrow window. Willy began examining the mother intently, ignoring the continued commotion outside. The layered dress she wore was predominantly a satiny chocolate split down the middle with a band of white and decorated in ruffles, bows, and lace. Perfectly sculpted, decorative strawberry buttons and earrings added to the effect of making her look like a fancy piece of cake with inviting décolletage from the corset design. Mrs. Bucket would normally never wear something so extravagant, but it had been a gift and was darling as well as nicely fitted. Wonka leaned closer and her heartbeat quickened as he suggestively stated, "You look absolutely _ravishing_ today, by the way."

She took note of a few giggling Oompa-loompas who were watching. Another audience turned into a show? Or was everybody simply a show to the candymaker? With a blush the woman said, "Willy, you have to stop doing this sort of thing."

Wonka queried sharply, "Wut sort of thing? I can't look at ya or pay you a compliment? Huh. Seems like the polite thing tah do would be to say thank you."

_Being_ both a modest and mannered person, the woman did feel shamed. Her gaze lowered and her body language turned submissive. As the trucks drove off with the contaminated victims and fresh news crews sprouted to report on the 'inexplicable' leak within the city's sewers, Willy motioned for the jabbering radio behind him to be turned off. "Doesn't matter. We both got work tah do anyhow. You've got Loompaland tikes to watch over and I'm gonna fix Mr. Bucket today."

"You are?" She gasped in delight.

"Yeah." He said casually with an accusatory look.

Those violet eyes could grow as cold as the snow outside, especially next to skin that remained a permanent shade of winter. Without prompting, he reached up and Mrs. Bucket resisted every urge to pull away as the hand drew toward her face. It wasn't that she wanted to discourage him from getting used to touch or offend him further; he simply needed to learn to be more appropriate about how it was done. That and she feared that she longed too much to be embraced in that heady scent again, to warm the parts of him that had become frozen.

A gloved hand brushed the very edge of her curly hair. The voice simply said, "It's yer hair, it musta' grown. I like it longer."

He drew closer still and the woman scrunched up and her eyes squeezed closed, she did not step back or run. Her nostrils soon detected the scent of sugar as sweet as an entire bakery of French pastries; the subtle warmth of his breath now unmistakably against the side of her face. All she could think was, "He WOULDN'T!"

But he did. There was an unmistakable soft brush against her cheek:

_Flit!_

_Flick!_

Followed by his all too familiar high-pitched giggle. Mr. Wonka _had_ kissed her, but in the method of the "butterfly" with eyelashes instead of lips. Cheeky devil. And cheeky Charlie for teaching it to him.

The sudden clicking of his heels walking away caused her to relax and reveal her doe-like eyes again. There was no sign of a limp as the man speedily disappeared down one of the numerous winding hallways. She'd hoped to say something to him about her child's obvious growing affection for him, but the moment was completely lost due to his usual exasperatingly illogical behavior. The thought of her husband being brought back into the fold was enough to brighten her spirits though. He couldn't continue this flirtatious behavior if Mr. Bucket was around, things would fall back into their normal patterns.

With a hopeful thought and a wistful smile toward the ever-observing natives, she left in the opposite direction toward the hidden location of The Children's Room, internally debating whether Willy Wonka was in fact a very _nice_ or a very _nasty_ man. She tried with great intention to see the first, but there was something about the second possibility that wasn't as distasteful as it perhaps should have been. After all, wasn't it that part which so ardently wanted to protect her son? A tremble, no, it was more of a shudder ran through her, as if some sleeping part of her had awakened a little.

"_Someone has to fight the monsters, don't they?"_

She'd said that to him from nowhere. Mr. Bucket had never had such a ferocious nature about him, although lately something had seemed to be growing. Seething. Perhaps they were all changing? Perhaps there really was something mystical about the factory and it was slowly seeping in? The unaccompanied woman twirled a strand of the previously admired locks while continuing on her path, drowned in her thoughts.

Meanwhile, The Puppet Hospital and Burn Center had been entirely shut off and draped in heavy black tarps. There would be NO visitors today. Bright, blinding lights shown down from far above upon the oxygen capsule; tiny, identical men in padded white body suits bearing red clinic crosses prepared everything. Wonka dramatically barged upon the scene, throwing aside a section of the plastic curtains like a great cape.

Head tilted downward, deeps shadows caused by the tall top hat eliminated all features, but clearly the man was not amused. Humanity was tap-dancing on his very last nerve today. How very convenient to have a giant target to focus the thunderstorm of his emotions into. Despite turning the tables on the crowd, this day was not what the candymaker planned and as any of the workers could tell you, The Rescuer did not like it when things didn't go according to HIS carefully laid plans. Heavy breaths accompanied a heaving chest. He surveyed the scene to make sure things were in order. Then snarled, "Let's do this."

The Oompa-loompa voices started low like a deep drum beat:

_Omm-Om-paa…_Ooga!

_Loooom-loom-paa…_Booga!

_Omm-Om-paa…_Ooga!

_Loooom-loom-pa…_Booga!

In elegant unison, silver trays were placed upon rolling medical carts; the severity and sharpness of the instruments appearing hardly different from those used on the lifeless, robotic puppets. Two men stepped up in rhythm upon undersized ladders. Similar to a pit crew adjusting a racecar, the ladders swung to either side of the candymaker.

_Omm-Om-paa…_Ooga!

_Loooom-loom-paa…_Booga!

_Omm-Om-paa…_Ooga!

_Loooom-loom-pa…_Booga!

Standing still, arms outstretched, Willy stood very much like the scarecrow comparison made by Grandpa George. Immediately, his velvet jacket was slipped off, a long medical smock was added, identical in shape to his father's. The color, in contrast to the petit nurses, was red and bore a _white_ cross on front. The ladders were wheeled to the sides where thick black bucket gloves were added over the skin-tight latex ones. With great speed they buttoned up the double-breasted garment, snapped a medical mask on over his lower face, and removed the top hat to place a welder's shield over the wildly twinkling eyes.

_**Mechanical man**__, Omm-Om-paa…_

**Mechanical mind**, _Loooom-loom-pa…_

_We've formed a revolutionary plan,_

_For an improved mechanical man,_

_Give me armor, _

_give me steel,_

_A way to seal an ill-fated deal,_

_Perfect workers are hard to find,_

_If only one could so easily improve the mind!_

With powerful steps the candymaker walked toward the drugged, unconscious Mr. Bucket inside the capsule-shaped oxygen chamber. He swayed slightly to the rap lyrics and melody being struck out all around the contained area. With wit as honed as the tools, he spoke an all too familiar phrase from his life in the exact cadence of the domineering dentist who usually spoke it, "Now, let's see what the damage is shall we?"

The maestro of this bizarre symphony surveyed the body then the vast selection of instruments and jigsaw supplies; nuts, bolts, wires, blades, circuits, tubes, and assorted appliances. Blindly one arm thrust out -- a diligent assistant placed a roll of papers within his grasp -- as he was certain would be done. He unfurled the blueprints in front of his face, a speedy inspection before handing them back and opening the isolated cell of the deformed, charred right arm. The next lines spoken were said bitterly, eyes squinting, "Didn't want him tah take the Great Glass Elevator, did ya? FORCED him to promise, didn't ya? And little Charlie doesn't break his promises. No…no, he does not."

_**Mechanical man,**_ _Omm-Om-paa…_

_**Mechanical mind,**_ _Loooom-loom-pa…_

_Tick-tock! Tock-tick!_

_The wattage wildly begins to flick,_

_Zappity-zip! Zippity-zap!_

_So much potential left to tap,_

_Working all around the clock,_

_Who has time to think or block,_

_Plans of astronomical proportions,_

_With life's dramatic distortions?!_

_Dramatic Distortions!_

_**These are the ties,**_ _Omm-Om-paa…_

_**The ties that bind,**_ _Loooom-loom-pa…_

_You saved a life, 'tis true, 'tis true,_

_And for that we're in debt to you,_

_But rotten parts we just can't keep,_

_Don't worry you'll feel nothing while asleep,_

_Working to fix every flaw or mistake,_

_Before sleepy eyes do wake._

_Before sleepy eyes do wake…_

An object that seemed horribly out of place was lifted off the last medical cart with demented eyes aimed toward an unmoving body that he practically wished _was_ a corpse. But he couldn't, Mr. Bucket had saved an Oompa-loompa, the cherished guardians of his livelihood and life's work. They knew every secret and kept them. For that and to spare Charlie a broken heart, he'd found this _second_ solution. A rough pull followed another and the oblong object created a thunderous roar!

Tiny rows of deadly sharp teeth began revolving and revolving in a blur of blaring decibels:

_**BBBbbbrRRrrraaaaAAAAAAMAMMMMMMM!!!!**_

_Ooga! Booga! Ooga! Booga!_

_Ooga! Booga! Ooga! Booga!_

Small onyx eyes stared on unflinching as the sparks began to fly, as flesh began to be cut. It didn't take much. It wasn't very long. Muscle strained to cut muscle as Wonka leaned into the work, harder pressure on the bone was required, and then…the awful chore was done. The next task ready to begin as the bloodstained chainsaw and useless appendage was wheeled away. A dozen sets of tiny hands with exacting fingers set to assist the pair of large ones at the gaping wound. Small tools equipped with laser beams, drills, and microscopic eyes were put into action. This would be a tedious and grueling procedure, it was fortuitous that his heir was nowhere in the factory, no need to worry about him walking in and seeing something that could scar the child for life as well.

**Author's Notes**

**My special thanks to all the readers and creators out there. I never could have come this far without you.**

_**"It always feels like, somebody's watching me"**_** was taken from the song "Somebody's Watching Me" by Rockwell (featuring Michael Jackson on backup). **

**Because it's too awesome NOT to draw attention to it, special thanks to LiveJournal user "glamourcorpse" for drawing this with her rendition of Charlie's outfit from earlier chapters: www(dot)deviantart(dot)com(slash)deviation(slash)34780022(slash)**

**You may be thinking Charlie-sheep? WTF? But oh no, you would be wrong, check out the oddly cute art that inspired it by the ever lovin' Live Journal user, "loimaga". I love the occasionally warped way this young woman's mind works: **

**loi-maga(dot)deviantart(dot)com(slash)art(slash)evils-we-love-24576852 **

**loi-maga. **

**Part of the Little Red Riding Hood inspiration, but you can feel free to imagine them looking however you want in those lascivious scenes.**

'**Nocturnal emissions' is the technical name for what Charlie experienced, otherwise known as 'wet dreams'. It is when boys ejaculate from erotic imagery without even needing to masturbate: kind of cool, but also a little messy and therefore embarrassing. Nearly **_**every**_** developing male in the world has them. **

_**Droolers**_** were what William Shakespeare called the people in the front row seat of his theater audience. Though, he wrote his plays, in part, to deliberately appeal to them.**

**Willy Wonka doing a somersault comes from the first movie and was **_**entirely**_** Gene Wilder's idea! I've always loved that move. When the director asked him why in the world he wanted to do it, the actor stated, "Because from then on the viewer is never sure if they can fully trust him or not." He was absolutely correct, that was **_**exactly**_** the sensation it left me with! **

"**Up the airy mountain, down the rushing glen, we dare not go a-hunting, for fear of little men." Spoken by the tinker in the first movie, originally an excerpt from ****The Fairies**** (William Allingham [1824-1889).**

**Mr. Wonka's outfit was inspired from staring at David Bowie in this outfit for too long. **

**www(dot)illustrated-db-discography.nl(slash)12inch(slash)pix(slash)Tonight(dot)jpg **

**The Celts believed in "knot magic", interesting subject. I'm sure Willy knows something of it. For example, I present a ****Traditional Nine Knot Spell: **

_**By knot of one - the spell's begun,**_

_**By knot of two - I make it true,**_

_**By knot of three - so mote it be,**_

_**By knot of four - the open door,**_

_**By knot of five - the spell's alive,**_

_**By the spell of six - the spell is fixed,**_

_**By the spell of seven - the earth and heaven,**_

_**By the spell of eight - the stroke of fate,**_

_**By the spell of nine - the (insert object of desire) is mine.**_

**You may still hear people say, "**_**Know**_** him…as in the biblical sense?" which refers to the fact that the bible used the word 'know' to imply **_**sexual**_** knowledge, the word **_**lay**_** was used the same way and today we use the term "laid" to imply sex. Interesting.**

**British slang is the bee's knees! I ain't Dahl but I try to throw it in now and then. "faffing" is to fool around, "gobsmacked" means to astound.**

**I feel that, like children, older people in our society (mine being American) are frequently NOT given credit for being thinking and feeling beings. Because you get old does not mean that your heart ceases to flutter or that your mind ceases to flower. At least, it shouldn't. My own mother is living proof of that.**

**On the subject of Grandpa Joe, there may be times when you met someone whom you admired so much that issues of race, gender, and age ceased to be an issue. Granted, this may be an exceptional circumstance, but certain famous people, like Johnny Depp himself seem to effortlessly cross these boundaries. One reader referred to Grandpa Joe's feelings as a "man crush" and that seems a good term for it. **

"**My dear old fish, go and boil yer head!" and "Oh, do shut up." are quotes taken directly from the book because they cracked me up.**

**And just so you don't think I'm entirely deranged, medical chainsaws do truly exist, though they are far more compact then what you use on your lawn. What fun is that though, right Willy?**


	19. Volume 19

**Title:** Is It Scary, volume XIV - It is HATE, not LOVE, Which is Truly Obscene

**By:** IDOL HANDS

**Rating:** R

**Warnings:** Dark & Mature Themes, Violence, Angst, Alternate Paganism, OC Candy, cannon from both movies & book, cursing, plus an under-aged/adult slash ("shota" or "chan") relationship with a cherry-red Incredible Gobstopper on top. Bon appetite!

**Disclaimer:** The characters portrayed are not my property but that of the estate of Roald Dahl, Tim Burton, Freddie Highmore, Deep Roy, and Johnny Depp.

**Summary:** SCHOOL DAY! Charlie has as many lessons to learn as he does to teach. How will the students react to the golden ticket winner's return? Willy Wonka has tried to find ways to sweeten the deal but people can find ways to sour anything. Even if the grand creator isn't by the boy's side, he is always on his mind. Important memories reveal insight into the many forces swirling around in the world – ones that Charlie has already begun to impact, on an unassuming playground, in an unassuming town, as he has become anything but. Playing tricky games and rhyming isn't only for Oompa-loompas...

**"Ashes, Ashes, We All Fall Down"**

A man with badly cut greasy hair and prominent buckteeth wearing a truly ugly tweed suit, stood behind the studious pupil and stared down at him with annoyance. There was nobody else inside the run down classroom. He stated clearly, "Charlie."

The pencil continued to eagerly scribble away as it had done all morning, coltish legs adorned in long striped socks and chunky loafers bouncing from enthusiasm. All of the empty school desks faced the fading chalkboard except this one; isolated and turned toward the blind-covered windows. Today's lessons did not concern him and Willy Wonka had been precise, if not gracious, that he did not wish his charge to absorb any information that wasn't personally taught by himself.

The child's continued lack of response prompted the teacher to bark, "Charlie Bucket! Have you gone deaf? That was the lunch bell! Stop writing already!!"

"Huh? Oh sorry, Mr. Turkentine! I got too wrapped up in that last question asking us to write an essay about a famous figure in history." The chastisement caused the boy to immediately put down his pencil and present the pile of papers to his old teacher. Everything felt so strange and so familiar at the same time, as if his former life had only been a dream. Reality had become an illusion and illusion was his new reality.

"It said _essay_, NOT _novel_. This'll take me FOREVER to read!" Said the lax teacher in a lower-class British accent, while waggling the chunk of loose leaf in the boy's face.

"Who did you choose, anyway?" He jerked the pile back in order to examine the last sheets, skimming over the extraordinarily improved cursive, nodding as he read, "Alexander the Great. Oh, thas' a nice choice, yes, brave fellow who…conquered much of the known world and…had an army composed entirely of _homosexual lovers_?! Charlie, you can't write things like this!!"

"Why? It's true. That's one of the reason's the army was so successful - no women to fight over or to temp the soldiers doing battles in foreign lands." The child politely stated as if he were discussing a cake recipe. His stunned instructor's color had begun to resemble paste as he went on, "I even included the story about the fifteen year old Persian boy, Bagoas, that was given to him as a gift. General Hephaistion, Alexander's lifelong friend was his true love, but they had an close relationship too."

"That manly fighter had TWO male lo-lo- and one of them was _fifteen_?! Thas' molestation that is!" Mr. Turkentine had walked back to the front of the room, collapsing into his desk chair with the pinches of stuffing sticking out of it.

"Actually, the verb tense 'molest' means to force _unwanted_ attentions on somebody younger or weaker; to bother, disturb, or pester them." Charlie had put his coat, beret, and sling bag back on as he continued to respectfully lecture his old teacher. He approached the man's desk and added softly, "Bagoas fell in love with Alexander, their relationship was mutual; no one was _forced_; and you know sir, not too long ago, such relationships weren't even uncommon. Here…have a Wonka bar!"

Although the teacher's own reality was being shifted beneath his feet, he reached out, took and readily began to consume the offered chocolate bar like a zombie. Free was free and he was known for being phenomenally cheap. The teacher looked Charlie up and down. This boy was dramatically different than the shy, withdrawn and dull-colored pupil that he was accustomed to seeing in class. There was a rosy glow in his cheeks, he made eye contact, he looked sparkling clean and he seemed perhaps a tad _too_ knowledgeable for a lad of his age.

A few bites of the treat and Mr. Turkentine's spirit returned, "Th-thas' all remarkably interesting, albeit slightly disturbing, but do me a favor and don't tell it to any of the other children. After all, I'M the TEACHER and YOU'RE the STUDENT and for a student to teach his teacher is both presumptuous and rude. Am I making myself clear?"

The boy repressed his grin as the frequently scatter-brained instructor continued to chomp away at the long, thin bar of candy. It was difficult to think of him as an authority figure with those brown smudges on his chin.

With a look that only flustered the man further, he answered, "It'll be our secret."

Before Charlie left the room, Mr. Turkentine called out, "Ere…wot sort of chocolate bar is this? I've not had it before but it's rather good."

"A Scrumdiddlyumtious Bar. They're new! Mr. Wonka has been _very_ inspired lately!" He answered with vigor before dashing away to the lunchroom, thus leaving his teacher to grade the test papers and mutter to himself about Willy Wonka's overly thorough teaching methods.

This was a big day for the youngest Bucket in more ways than one! For today, he had money to pay for a REAL lunch instead of accepting the free one that used to be reluctantly provided to him. So, rather than a small baked potato, a stale piece of bread, and a large glass of milk (all of which he had still been _extremely_ grateful for) -- today he'd receive a large meatball sandwich with gooey Swiss cheese and zesty tomato sauce, a crisp salad, zucchini medley, and even dessert! He'd always wondered what those warm sub sandwiches would taste like. No matter how much you inhale the air, a living thing can never be completely satisfied by fumes. Oh, how he'd tried outside the chocolate factory though, EVERY day on his way to and from school.

Reaching into his breast coat pocket for the money that his benefactor had given him, he discovered that a note was enclosed in the envelope as well. The ink that permeated through the parchment was plum-colored and smelled amazingly like grape jelly while the tan wax seal added the aroma of freshly roasted peanut butter. As strict and demanding as the chocolatier could be, he always made time for the absurd. Charlie sniffed it and thought, "Only Mr. Wonka would do something so funny to something so elegant."

And then, it suddenly felt like his mentor was standing right next to him again, sliding that paper into his coat at the same time that he stole a risqué good-bye kiss with Grandpa Joe's back turned. He'd caught the boy off guard before any panic or protest could be made. The action had felt all the more intense for the lingering fears that were still in his psyche from the erotic dream he'd had and yet he couldn't resist, couldn't pull away. Their differently sized tongues had touched only briefly, but long enough for Charlie to taste that wonderful syrup of the man's mouth, melting his worries into longing.

The voice whispered his identical thought, "You're my new favorite candy."

"Kid? Do you have money or not?" An unforgiving, tired face stared at the entranced boy. It was quite different from the attractive one he'd been envisioning…especially the large, hairy warts. The note was pushed back into his pocket while he shoved the money into the cashier's hands, which were coincidently also gloved, but in something resembling a clear plastic bag instead of the snug, stylish variety worn around the factory. "Oh uh, yes, exact change and everything. Here. Thank you. Thank you very much!"

He happily bounced away, leaving the baffled woman behind. Why anyone would be so excited to receive this slop was beyond her.

"Next!" Was shouted, as the boy surveyed the common tables holding his lunch tray. His usual spot was always the furthest back corner where he could avoid any judgmental stares or rude comments. It wasn't easy being the only child in school who never had money for lunch and who wore the very same ill-fitting clothes and shoes for _years_. The memory of it caused his head to droop, perhaps he'd still sit in the corner...

"Hey, you weren't a new kid! You're THE Charlie Bucket!!" A voice was heard to shout out. It was one of the girls who'd spotted he and Grandpa Joe earlier. She was wearing an extremely pretty outfit that reminded the ticket winner of Alice from Wonderland. The girl waved at him, "Come and join us!"

Charlie shyly walked over to the table of previously chatting students. Everyone had ceased talking and began greeting him with great eagerness:

"Welcome back!"

"Nice to see you, Charlie!"

"How's it going?"

"We missed you!"

They'd never done that before. It was nice but…unsettling. He wasn't unaccustomed to being the center of attention just normally in a different way. Before they'd parted that morning, Mr. Wonka had stated, "Yer gonna learn more lessons today kid, ones that if I had my druthers, I woulda spared ya from. Remember not to trust a single one of them."

It made the boy sad that the chocolatier's view on life was so negative and paranoid. Things were already going better than that! Actually, he always did want a chance to get to know his peers, but since he was usually ignored, he'd busy himself with his thoughts and dreams instead. Recess wasn't a better time to socialize because Charlie could never afford to use up any energy playing. Instead, he was forced to sit and only watch. Otherwise he'd never make it through the rest of class, plus the cold walk back home where nothing more than cabbage broth was waiting.

The girl in the fancy dress was positively beaming at him, "I barely recognized you in those brand new clothes of yours! I'm almost jealous!"

Her tall blonde friend added, "That is, we thought it might be you, but…you looked so different! And no one's had a chance to talk to you in class since you were all the way in that corner. We've been passing notes like mad. You're all the gossip today!"

This came as a big surprise to the Bucket child. He'd been too absorbed in the tests to notice. However, his sensitive hearing detected far less flattering comments as he sat down.

"Amazing wot a bath can do, maybe he'll finally stop stinking of cabbage now. Pee-_yuu_!"

"Those clothes are TOO nice for the likes of him."

"Who does he think he is now? He looks like some sort of Nancy boy."

"Aw, I think he looks cute, although…what's with the gloves?"

Charlie decided to ignore their rudeness, responding only politely to the snide question, "Mr. Wonka wears gloves, so he's given me some as well. He started wearing them to keep everything sanitary, but he didn't see why they couldn't be fun or attractive, so he makes them very nice and in lots of colors too. Everything in the factory is like that as a matter of fact."

The table grew quiet from embarrassment for they hadn't realized he could hear them, nor had they realized how well spoken the boy could be when he had a deep feeling about something. Charlie looked around and said forgivingly, "It's alright, I guess I'd be curious too if I were you. Mr. Wonka does do a lot of things differently from most people but…different doesn't have to be bad."

It was then that Charlie noticed the child next to him had a small baked potato, a glass of milk, and was nibbling on a crust of bread. A gentle curiosity in his blue-green eyes met the scenario, to which the small child meekly explained, "A bully stole my lunch money."

The other students began giggling and teasing the child for that confession, but Charlie immediately cut his meatball hoagie and placed half onto the other boy's plate. "Here. You can have my dessert too if you'd like."

Everyone ceased laughing as they watched their old classmate perform this act of rare charity in a preoccupied world. It was more than anyone had ever done for him; no one had ever done such a thing for Charlie Bucket in all the days that he'd gone without proper nutrition. It was all right though; the pure-hearted youth never expected anyone to solve his problems for him even though he enjoyed solving other's.

One child blurted out in disbelief, "You're _giving away_ your dessert?! Are you _crazy_?"

The golden ticket winner looked at his glossy green jell-o with a slightly shriveled red cherry on top. It's wobbly texture and colors far too similar to that looming, horrific image of the Vermicious K'nid that he'd seen in his mentor's giant scrying mirror. He tensed up, but snapped out of it by plunking down the silver bucket he'd been carrying around onto the table; yet another gift that was contained within the stack of presents that had been left yesterday. He proudly stated, "Why not? After all, I've got _plenty_ of desserts!"

Eyes all down the table widened as they read the colorful label which cheerfully announced:

**Bucket of Surprises!**

**The ****latest**** & ****greatest**** creations of Willy Wonka and his new Boy Wonder!**

Said 'Boy Wonder' began joyfully passing out the treats, then pulled out a cardboard shelf to pass out a new assortment on a second, followed by a third level. It revealed that the entire object was a cleverly designed candy box only painted silver, not an actual bucket made of real metal.

"Hey, give that back! It was mine!"

"You already got two!"

"No, I didn't!"

"Liar!"

"I want one! I didn't get _any_!"

Charlie was startled to see one girl pull another's hair, one boy holding a candy far above a shorter person's head and yet another child starting to cry in a tantrum. One tomboy was certain to have a black eye tomorrow as she sat rubbing it on the floor. The entire scene was quickly getting out of control, turning an act of generosity into one of mayhem!

"SILENCE!!!" Cried out a booming adult female voice. She'd dashed into the modest cafeteria from across the hall, "Wot the Devil is all this commotion about?!"

"Charlie Bucket is giving out free Wonka Candy!"

"NEW Wonka Candies!!"

"And I didn't get none!"

"Liar!"

"You're the liar!"

"_EVERYONE_ SHUT THEIR CAKE HOLES RIGHT NOOOOW!!" The woman hollered loud enough to frighten all the students into stunned submission. After which she patted her extremely well sprayed hair in a failing attempt to maintain her ladylike station.

This was a teacher from another class and very much like her name, Mrs. Applebottom had an unusually wide bottom in comparison to her top, but it went along with her large legs that tapered into small, pointed feet. The woman immediately dashed over to Charlie with such an intense expression on her face that it startled the boy; small lips tightly pursed and closely set eyes peered out of horned rim glasses, "Wot do you mean coming back here after such a long absence and upsetting the children with…with these divine temptations?! Have you turned into as much of a trouble-maker as that candymaker of yours?! I should confiscate this- this uh, _bucket_ IMMEDIATELY! Maybe you're not used to having things Charlie, but a standard rule of thumb is - if you can't bring enough for everyone then don't bring any at all!"

Like a lost puppy, the child put his arms around the fancifully shaped chocolate box. He pleaded, "But I do, I DO have enough for everybody if they share properly. I even have some for the adults. Mr. Wonka would love _everyone's_ opinions. Won't you please try one, Mrs. Applebottom?"

There was such a sweet charm to the child's voice and such a kindness to his smile. He also looked like a doll in the swirled rainbow sweater, short tailored coat, and beret with tassel. The perfection of it all set off by crowded teeth, knobby knees, and slightly oversized ears. It immediately melted her heart like chocolate melts in one's hands. She took let out a breath, recomposing herself, "Willy Wonka is very lucky that he has such a cute little partner…especially considering his recent exposure on the news. I must say, what a peculiar acting and strange looking chap he is! Not at _all_ what I imagined him to be when I was a child."

Charlie let out a weak chuckle in response to that, keeping the dimpled grin on his face.

Examining the flashy new packages that lay inside, she acquiesced further, "I'm supposed to be on a diet, but I suppose I could try just one piece, what've you got?"

Slightly to his embarrassment, Charlie pulled out a little pile of flashcards that his mentor had included with the candy box. Public speaking was a very new thing to the youngest Bucket. With a sea of eager faces staring at him and causing butterflies in his stomach, the cards no longer seemed as out of place as they had during that world famous tour; each clearly explained the new treats and each was stylishly emblazoned with a new logo that incorporated the initials of both of their names along with a small heart. Brazen, as it was secretive, the logo was visible to all as he began to speak:

**Top Hats****: Extra large marshmallows on top of a thick graham cookie triple-dipped in the darkest chocolate from heirloom cocoa beans. Filled and decorated with tangy olallieberry sauce; a decadent treat that is also high in healthy antioxidants!**

Encouraging murmurs and smiles, prompted him to continue. A blush filled his cheeks as he read the second cue card.

**Charlie Bars****: Compact candy bars with random stripes of white, milk, and dark chocolate. The filling is a special fluffy nougat with a hint of exotic Asian pear flavor.**

The boy modestly left off the part of the cue card which stated: **Although it can't possibly compare to the perfect, subtle sweetnesses of the real thing.**

**Golden Hearts****: Solid, highest quality Wonka chocolate sprayed with a metallic sheen of edible gold and engraved with our initials to ensure that tender loving care went into the work because TLC, is the real "secret ingredient" to Wonka creations.**

There were more murmurs to indicate how touched they were by the candymaker's words. He could be quite good with them even when he wasn't as good about delivering them in person. It made the boy all the more curious about what the note in his coat pocket said as he continued:

**Mrs. Bucket's Tarty Tarts****: Individual flakey pastries filled with homemade lemon plum curd created from Mr. Wonka's very own Lollypop trees and drizzled with icing made from purest cane sugar to offset the tartness.**

**Square Candies that Look Round****: It may sound impossible but it isn't! The most clever and creamy caramel toffee in the whole wide world!**

The teacher held out her hand, "I'll take that one. THAT I have to see!"

Knowing the trick, Charlie handed her one responding, "You're exactly right."

She gave him a puzzled look that made the boy proud, he'd done a pun in a method very similar to his idol.

All the children watched as she opened the package and removed what was most clearly a SQUARE-shaped object. "This don't look round."

Mrs. Applebottom's eyes had gotten very wide as she stared at what was in the palm of her hand. "And i-i-it seems to be looking at me."

"Put them all on the table." Instructed Charlie, "Then walk over to the other end of the room."

She did what he said and everyone marveled at how the square candies googly sets of eyes rolled until they found her standing at the other side of the room.

"Now walk back." The boy said.

She did so and the candies once again inexplicability rolled their wide eyes to the opposite side of the room. Even more disturbingly, they had round-cheeked smiles pressed into their false miniature faces.

"There you go -- square candies that LOOK _'round_!" He proudly announced, while duplicating the effect with his own eyes and making circular motions with his forefinger, exactly as the chocolatier had done toward his own family when it was explained. The name was a play on words referring to 'around' rather than a geometric shape. One got accustomed to such semantics around Willy Wonka.

Many children started to laugh at the weirdness of the joke.

Naturally, _children_ understood the wacky side of the candymaker's sense of humor.

"…so they do." Stated the teacher dumbfounded. She scooped them back up,

"They're…almost too clever to eat. I-I guess I'll be sticking to my diet after all."

"Don't worry, they aren't alive. It's only a trick, you really can eat them." Charlie assured the uncertain looking woman.

Mrs. Applebottom put one very carefully into her mouth, staring at the candy that stared right back, smiling even as it was consumed. A second later she marveled at the smooth buttery flavor, rolling her own orbs in ecstasy, "Mmmm. Divine. However does he do it?"

"Magick of course." Answered the boy before continuing.

**Rainbow Drops****: Suck on these color-changing candies and you'll be able to spit in every color of the Rainbow.**

"Spitting is a DISGUSTING habit!" announced one of the girls while picking her nose.

"I can think of a worse one." Said a boy who happily possessed one of the multicolored, spiked suckers.

"Silence!" announced Mrs. Applebottom then kindly said, "Please continue, Charlie."

The boy cleared his throat and explained the last new invention that was ready for market:

**Raspberry Kites****: The most-est, special-est, newest treat from the collection because it was our FIRST creation together! The pliable, flavored taffy will expand into small kites with liquorice strings that you can tie to your fingers and fly before gobbling them up! And due to their delicate construction, your breath is enough to make them work.**

Again there was the bubbling of a commotion as the children began to get excited about trying their new candies. Tiny deep pink kites circling feet above the kids and others running in circles to outsmart the Square Candies. The idea of so many youngsters trapped inside the confined space with raging sugar highs prompted Mrs. Applebottom to insist that all confections be consumed OUTSIDE and permitted an early recess. She arched her head down the hall chiding, "Mr. Turkentine, would you like to come out here and give me a hand with all these roaming children?"

Then muttered under her breath, "You lazy old drunken mule."

It was shocking what enhanced senses could reveal! The boy wasn't sure he liked having privilege to these new sorts of knowledge. He'd always assumed the best about people. Of course drinking might help to explain quite a bit about Mr. Turkentine's half-hazard demeanor, but it didn't have to make him a bad person just perhaps an…'inadequate' teacher.

A rather abrupt voice hollered back at her, "Well, I'm grading all of Charlie Bucket's bleedin' test papers then, aren't I?!"

The woman crossed her arms and said in a loud singsong voice, _"Theeere's free caaandy!"_

Within three seconds flat, the poorly dressed teacher had scooted into the cafeteria, sliding against the polished floor in his excitement. He looked down at Charlie then blurted out, "You got all A's! A _pluses_ even! Where's the candy?!"

The boy handed him a tart, not bothering to mention that he'd already gotten a free Scrumdiddlyumtious Bar. His teacher happily sat down and began eating it along with the few kids who were bothering to finish their lunches before running outside. The youngest Bucket child was very content to eat actual food in relative peace. Those commotions had really upset him, leaving him with a slight headache. After ingesting some satisfying bites of warm food, he noticed that the distracting crinkling in his left ear hadn't ceased. It was Mr. Turkentine; he couldn't get the package open. Resisting the urge to laugh, Charlie went over and opened it for the grateful, anxious man. Apparently Mr. Wonka would need to make the wrappings easier to split for less dexterous fingers.

"Caw, you must be grateful to out of that stuffy old factory, eh? Must be almost unbearable for a little kid to be stuck up in there for nearly a month with no one to play with except that workaholic shut-in." Said the teacher, attempting to make small talk with his mouth full.

Putting aside the assumed insult toward his beloved mentor, the child answered mildly, "Actually, I miss it already. It's more like a never-ending amusement park ride then a workplace."

"Blimey, this is GOOD! Wot's in here?" Deaf to Charlie's conflicting response, the man read the wrapper that had thwarted him and got that comically aggravated look on his face again, "_Lollipop_ trees? That's absurd! There is no such thing as Lollipop trees!"

"Oh, but there are, I swear it, right inside of The Chocolate Room where my whole family's house was moved…" His voice tapered off as Mr. Turkentine got _that_ look on his face again, "I'm sorry sir, a pupil teaching his teacher is both presumptuous and rude."

"Quite right." The man had crossed his legs and stuck up his chin. Then he snaked up his arm and took another quick bite of pastry.

"I-I'll just be outside then…never had the strength for recess before. Excuse me." He picked up his bag. Then glanced at his former teacher who was still struggling to hold on to his dignity, "Um, would you like to keep this bucket box as a souvenir, sir? It's the very first one ever made, bound to be valuable."

It only took a second for the man to scoop it up and cradle it like a precious bundle of new life. "Thas' rather sporting of you lad. No wonder Wonka was so keen on you. Such a sarcastic, pompous, old puss on telly though, _terrible_ example to children! I don't suppose you ever manage to teach _him_ anything do ya then?"

A speckle of a glimmer, one that would have made his mentor proud, appeared in the child's eyes as he replied, "Oh, you'd be surprised."

"Mm, Well you're a perfect match then aren't you?" He said with a whimsical smile. "Alright, off with you then."

After the boy left, Mr. Turkentine gave a few suspicious glances around to make sure no one was looking right at him. Then he promptly stuck his face into the empty cardboard bucket, taking a long indulgent sniff of every aroma mixing together in a symphony of fragrances. For a split second he pondered that "perfect match" comment that he'd just made and thought about the boy's extensive knowledge on certain deviant relationships, but then dismissed it as too ludicrous. Surely the man was simply as detailed about his lessons as he was about making confections and who could argue with _those_ methods? Besides, Willy Wonka was no Alexander the Great, he thought, a person couldn't possibly conquer the entire known world with sugar, could they?

He froze then re-thought the question. _Could they?_

A bustle of life was on the playground; whoops and hollers from all the excitement and ingested treats while the children ran about playing games and jumping on playground equipment. Again, he heard the voice of his benefactor. This time it was from during lunch in the man's bedroom, Charlie had just taken an uncertain bite from the pineapple coconut curry. The dish thankfully turned out milder than the spiced hot cocoa he'd also been given that day, its heat offset by fruit and milk.

Toying with his own spicier version, the candymaker mused in a distant voice (relaxed by earlier 'events'), "Ya know…I can barely remember a time when the only thing I wanted tah do was make the world a brighter, happier place by fillin' it with the same thing that gave me joy. Really, that's all I wanted."

Baffled, the boy responded, "But you DID do that, didn't you?"

"Yeah but, people…complicated everything; always tried to turn it into sumthin' else. Always tried to tamper with it, cheapen it, or _ruin_ it and-and take..." A sadness slicked across the man's face as he shifted his gaze back toward his small companion. With that rare seriousness that always caught the boy off guard he said, "Charlie, what we have is pure. It's real and special, so if people find out then they'll do the same thing…they-they'll try to take you…away from me. They'll try to ruin everything again because they can't understand, because it doesn't follow their stupid little rules. I…I don't want to loose you."

The confession of his insecurity won a smile from the boy. "I'm not going to let anyone take me away from you, Mr. Wonka."

Something gentle and human appeared briefly before his features hardened again, "You don't know how awful, truly _awful_ people can be…" He reached across the table, hands shaking as he gripped the boy's in nearly an attack from the overwhelming surge of emotion, the voice was very soft in spite of that, but the stare was like a portal into a dimension of loneliness, "That's one of the reasons why you're special, why I _need_ you."

The urgency in his hero's reaction had a deep impact on the boy at that time, as Charlie had swallowed, the seed of a chili brushed down the inside of his esophagus in a similar stripe of burning. No wonder the very same words had reoccurred in the dream. Actually the whole dream was a sort of mish-mosh of everything he'd been through, his own mind lacing his experiences together into a macabre fantasy.

It took the child a moment to decide on the right thing to say, "Mr. Wonka, you have to stop worrying, you have to simply enjoy happiness when it comes and you can never give up believing in the good of the world or it won't be able to find you. That's what my Grandpa Joe says."

Gently the child's hands were released from the larger, stronger grip. Wonka bowed his head in a guilty fashion as he stated with foreboding, "I ustah believe in the good in people, kay? I used tah think it was just my Dad o-or the kids that teased me who were bad, but it was more than that, and lately… all I see is _evil_. And it's growing every day. I can…_feel_ it."

He had balled his right hand into a fist, pushing it under his ribcage with a pause on the phrase "feel it", the briefest glimpse of some terrible fear, worse than any before, revealing itself as he picked up his head. "That's why I like it here, inside my factory where it's safe and warm and there's this perfect little person who actually gives a tinker's darn about me…even the scary parts."

That confession won a sad, sincere expression from the perceived 'perfect little person'. "Of course I do. Because imagination can be anything; big, small, colorful, wonderful, strange, frightening…"

The young British voice whispered with more emphasis, "_Anything_."

His attention came back to reality as clouds parted briefly on the schoolyard, allowing rays of real sunshine to light up the scene and causing the thin layer of snow to glisten like diamonds. Even in the bleakness, Charlie could find beauty, focusing his attentions on the small patches of grass that had survived the freeze and trampling of countless children's feet. The keenness of his eyes even found a flower that had managed to exist by growing underneath the wooden stoop of the school's entrance. Such a bright spot of color was rare in his dull, industrial town.

He bent down to examine the bloom better and was surprised to find a litter of candy wrappers near it. With a frown, the boy picked them up, placing them into his pockets for proper disposal later. He wondered, would it be possible to invent _evaporating_ packaging for sloppy people?

And then something funny happened, he wasn't certain, but for a second it almost seemed like the flower did a curtsey like a tiny ballerina. He blinked and stared again, there did seem to be a face in the striations of color in the petals, and the leaves might look like a small set of wings to a person with who was willing to stretch their mind in those directions. Charlie remembered the sketch his mentor had drawn of him with faerie wings and took a playful glance between his shoulder blades just to make certain he hadn't grown some. A breeze blew, hiding the sun and pulling the grey shadows back again, but the boy swore, absolutely swore, he heard gratitude in the wind as it whisked past his ear.

Just in case, the sensation prompted him to whisper to the blossom, "You're welcome."

"Charlie! Charlie! Come play rope with us!" Shouted the two girls who had invited him to their lunch table. The boy turned and smiled, walking toward them. In his wake, a shuffle of dried leaves and foliage floated on the breeze. Unseen, they landed on the ground in shapes which resembled the letters:

_** R**_ _**E S C U E R **_

"Ever tried Double Dutch rope before?" Asked the blonde named Alexandria. She was much taller than him. Girls around the golden ticket winner's age tended to reach a growth spurt while the boys would lag behind until they were teenagers.

Of course Charlie Bucket had never played Double Dutch. He'd never had friends to even hold the ends of the jump rope, not unless he asked his Mum and Dad. And they had things a lot more important to do than that; Mum always busy taking care of the chores and his bedridden grandparents while Dad would be exhausted from his day at work from the toothpaste factory. Neither of them had any extra energy to spare either. It was then that it dawned on the boy that all of his 'friends' were adults. Maybe that was another reason why he and Mr. Wonka got a along in a way that other grown-ups and children did not.

However, in response, Charlie simply shook his head 'No' for he never mentioned the difficulties of his personal life to anyone even if they had been sort of apparent to everyone.

Alexandria explained, "Stand there and watch us and when you get the knack, jump in! Hunky-dory?"

"The two sets of jump ropes began rhythmatically slapping the ground, crisscrossing each other in a pattern similar to a helix, an object that Charlie now knew was the pattern for all living things. Sort of an odd thing to see in jump ropes but then it probably wasn't any less uncommon than seeing tiny winged ballet dancers inside of a flower. The girls also sang nonsensical limericks to accompany their playing. He liked the game immediately and was certain Mr. Wonka and the Oompa-loompas would too!

_I eat my peas with honey,_

_I've done it all my life._

_It looks a little funny._

_But it keeps them on my knife!_

_How many peas can I get on my knife?_

_One! Two! Three! . . ._

They kept right on counting until someone jumped wrong, accidentally stepping on one of the ropes and breaking the rhythm. Then somebody else took a turn. It didn't take long before the heir to Wonka industries was certain that he had 'the knack' and removed his outer vestments in order to join in. As he stood waiting, they chanted another ditty:

Apartment for rent, inquire within,

When **Alexandria Amazonia** moves out, let **Charlie Bucket** move in!

As soon as the tall girl hopped out, the Bucket child jumped in to give it his best try. **Hop.** _Whisk! Whisk!_ **Hop. Skip.** _Whippitah! Whippitah!_ **Twist and Skip.** _Whisk! Whisk!_ **Hop.** _Whippitah! Whippitah!_

They began to chant an appropriate song:

_Chocolate bears and gingerbread cats,_

_All dressed up in whipped-cream hats._

_Danced in the garden under the moon,_

_Beat sweet rhythms with a wooden spoon,_

_Whirling, turning, jumping to the beat,_

_Melting down to their ice cream feet._

_When the baker ran to see,_

_They ran beneath the gum-gum tree,_

_Running in between the rows,_

_Tripping over ice cream toes._

_There were 1, 3, 3 . . ._

**Hop. Hop. **_Whisk! Whisk! _**Skip. Skip. **_Whippitah! Whippitah! _ "Turn around and touch the floor!" _Whisk! Whisk! _**Hop. Hop.** _Whippitah! Whippitah!_ **Skip. Skip.**

Over and over again, changing slightly if they altered their melodies. In a short time he had beaten Alexandria's long held record despite the rope holders doing their best to try and trip up the jumper.

Faster and faster the ropes were skipped to playful limericks while little Charlie didn't miss a beat, the thick padded soles of his shoes helping to give him an excellent trampoline effect as the wildly striped sweater occasionally flipped up enough to reveal a flash of midriff skin along with a peek of inset bellybutton. He let out a laugh, Mr. Wonka was the one who taught him about listening for beat and it was really working! People had a pulse, why not the world? And here he was doing it, he'd found it! The Oompa-loompas certainly believed it to be true and he could nearly hear & see the tiny men all around him performing instead of the schoolgirls.

The activity was opening up his senses to all sorts of things that he hadn't noticed before: the way every building in his town looked nearly identical, crushed up against each other, the lack of nature anywhere, the single tree outside the school whose roots seemed to ache like old bones as they forced themselves up through the cement. Angry graffiti marred some of the buildings from young people desperate for recognition of any kind. The state of repairs that the school itself was in need of, it wouldn't be long before it resembled his own home. Where was the concern for the children's environment? It was…wrong. This wasn't how things we supposed to be, was it? Were these the sorts of things Mr. Wonka saw when he looked at the world outside the factory?

A falsely happy, tin melody shot into his ears. His eyes focused on an even less welcome site at the far side of the playground - A **Ficklegruber Never-Melting Ice Cream** Truck. Ficklegruber's indeed, he thought! That competitor had _stolen_ the recipe from Mr. Wonka by using spies! He was one of the reasons that the great factory had been closed causing Grandpa Joe and many, many others to loose their jobs and the economy to fall. Not to mention costing his hero the ability to trust.

Several children were gathered at the truck, and they were doing something very curious. Rather than _paying_ the man money, he was handing it TO them. And the next thing the boy saw shocked him further. These children had resisted eating their treats and were passing the new Wonka creations right into his competitor's hands!

"NO! STOP IT!" Charlie screamed, though managing not to miss a beat.

"Bollocks, he saw." Whispered Alexandria to one of the children she was standing next to.

"How the bugger did he do that from so far off?" The other child responded with annoyance.

The betrayal caught him so off guard that he finally tripped up and hit the ground; his bare knees slightly scuffed and red from touching the ice. He stared up and panted, "You mean you KNEW?! You TRICKED me?"

The rope people quickly ran around in circles, deliberately tangling up the golden ticket winner. Forced to collapse to the dirt, Charlie struggled and fought back the tears that wanted to come out as they pulled the ropes too tight for him to move. Urging them to think he begged, "They were _gifts_. Mr. Wonka wanted to share his marvelous candy with you, why would you trade kindness and _magic_ for something…something as common as money?"

Both girls gawked before the second spoke again, "How the bugger does he keep hearing us? Is the twerp bionic or something?"

Alexandria twisted her lip up and pushed one eyebrow down in judgment. "Maybe money is common to YOU, Cinderella boy."

"I bet you think you're _SOO_ special now Charlie _BUNK-IT_, but you're not." She flung the long locks of her golden hair back as she looked down upon the tangled child. Her voice was softer, accenting the cruelty in the feminine tone, "You're still nothing more than a stinky dumb cabbage head and you always will be. I feel sorry for Mr. Wonka. He MUST be crazy as a loon to pick someone as pathetic as you to take over his entire chocolate factory. You'll _never_ be able to do it."

"Yeah, I should have won that ticket!" Shouted one of the kids.

"Stuff it!" The girl commanded them. Clearly, her lovely appearance did not match her inner spirit, much like the youngsters at the day of the tour. Her attention returned back as she added with spite, "ANY of us would have been a better choice then you."

The ice cream truck with faded burgundy stripes had driven up the road to the side where Wonka's heir was helplessly being trapped. It allowed a closer view of the driver and the boy could see an attractive young man in a plaid vest and bow tie laughing at him while holding up the ill-gotten goodies. A mixture of anger and pain built up inside the child, Alexandria's words stung because a part of him believed her – a doubt that nibbled at the back of his mind. Would he ever be able to live up to Mr. Wonka's expectations? Physical attentions had proved a great distraction from mental ones. He felt like he had already let his idol down and dreaded having to tell him that one of his most hated competitors got his hands on the new candies.

An even worse blow came when three boys began searching through his book bag that had been left lying on the ground from when he'd joined the jump rope game. The child blurted out with a crack in his voice, "Leave that alone! Those are my personal things!"

This of course prompted them to deliberately turn the bag upside down, dumping the contents onto the lawn; books, papers, sketches, a pencil kit, and a strangely reflective black object. "Oh, ho, ho, and what do we have 'ere? A _knife_? Why little bucket brains, I never knew ya had it in you. It's a real fancy one too. Figures, Mr. Fancy Pants."

"You have NO RIGHT to touch that!" His blue-green eyes stayed focused on the bully that was approaching him, no doubt the very same one that had taken the lunch money from the small boy who was forced to accept a free one. The child finally screamed out a shrill, "HEEEL--

But a scarf was twisted over the lower portion of Charlie's face in order to silence him. It smelled sickeningly of little girl's baby powder perfume. Alexandria reached over his shoulder toward the stocky boy who put several large bills into her hand as he stated, "There's your cut of the profits Boss Lady. Huh, speaking of cutting…"

The bare blade was suddenly placed under the young Bucket's chin.

If anyone had touched the child's skin it would most assuredly have been as cool as his mentor's usually was; blood pressure dropped and his stomach was churning. Only a minute had passed but it felt like hours! Where were the teachers that should be watching them? Where was anybody who cared? His eyes darted about in panic. Why did the rest of the children only look on?! Their faces revealed being half fascinated to see what would happen next and half bound by fear of getting involved. Neither emotion was of any help to the innocent victim.

Inwardly he scolded himself for forgetting that he'd left the Pagan instrument inside his bag for safekeeping. Thank goodness the bully was wearing gloves against the cold since Mr. Wonka had told his heir that whomever touched the object affected its energy and he certainly didn't want this cruel person's energy in there.

To his surprise, Mr. Ficklegruber called out in an American accent, "Hey! What're you kids up to?! Don't MURDER him!"

"Don't worry, I'm not going to kill him, only mess up those pretty widdle baby clothes of his." Said the bully mockingly as he kicked up icy dirt then rubbed his boots off on the wool shorts and striped socks. Immediately after that, the large boy began taking fast slashes at the sweater with a muttered, "Hard cheese if he gets a little 'scratched' in the process."

No further complaint was lodged from the driver as he too watched on with the crowd.

The boy was numb with shock, entirely unsure what would happen to him next. An insanely sharp blade satisfactorily sliced through his beautiful garment like it was made of softened butter, but just as Mr. Wonka's sword had not cut the man's own skin, neither did Charlie's athame cut his. For these instruments were so special that they would not wound their masters. However, neat slices did expose the child's tender skin and one pert nipple to the chilled air.

In the bully's zealous frenzy, he discovered that the same protection to the blade's double edge did not hold true for himself. He used vulgarity that would have infuriated the factory owner, "Ouch! God-Fucking-Damn it! I cut me own sodding hand. Ah, it stings like a son of a bitch!"

He'd dropped the blade and gripped his hand with a hiss. It currently seemed paralyzed, despite only having a mark the size of a paper-cut.

"Tsk. Quit being such a whinge." Said Alexandria as she bent to pick the athame up herself, but a curdling voice stopped her just before a single bare finger touched it.

"My Word! What IS going on over here?!" Mrs. Applebottom had begun to rush over causing all of the students to scatter and Charlie to finally collapse upon the ground. Ficklegruber's truck peeled away in a loud gearing of the engine and screeching of tires. The teacher could hardly believe the state of the kind pupil. She shouted loudly, "_HEEELPP!!_"

Of course none came and the woman was too overcome with her own fear and emotion to touch or comfort the boy. He managed to pull himself together, thinking of Mr. Wonka's reputation. The partly damaged jump ropes fell slack as he sat up. The site of the athame and its sheath left lying on the ground along with the other contents of his sling bag caused him to thrust forward and shuffle thing back together in a panic before Mrs. Applebottom or any other teacher discovered that he'd brought a "weapon" to school. He'd end up in worse trouble than the bullies!

The wide bottomed woman could only look on distraught, nibbling at her nails. "Charlie, I want you to give me every name of every student who was responsible for doing this to you and I'll make sure that their parents are contacted and that they get suspended. I-I figured your renewed presence after such a long absence would upset the students, but I never thought it would be in SUCH a negative way. Perhaps you've been flaunting yourself a bit too much today."

The heir of the chocolate factory glanced at her over his shoulder. As compassionate as he was, even he could hardly believe the woman had said such a thoughtless thing in light of the events. Before he could decide whether or not to respond there was a loud explosion from a short distance away.

_**BANG! **_

"Wot on Earth?! NOW who's being attacked?!" As soon as she said that, three more loud explosions were heard in near unison. "GUNFIRE?! Charlie, wot sort of riff-raff has your fame brought to our little school?!"

It occurred to Charlie to check a smaller pocket within his bag where he had stored secret candy that Mr. Wonka had _insisted_ on giving him despite his protests. Oh no. With a gulp, the disheveled boy stated, "I don't think it's a gun, Mrs. Applebottom. It's exploding…_candy_."

The place the young Bucket was placed after that was in the school office because the three boys and Alexandria were all in the clinic with rather dramatic damage done to their teeth along with black soot stains that wouldn't wipe clean from their fronts. Further, the paralyzation in the bully's right hand had spread to his entire body, leaving him lying catatonic on a cot. The other students really couldn't communicate with their mouths but the nurse had dismissed their scribbles about a strange switchblade in sweet Charlie Bucket's bag as balderdash.

The boy hadn't bothered to look at anyone since he'd been placed in the corner chair to wait for a police person. Unfortunately, everyone was rather tied up keeping a boundary outside of the factory and hospital in order to limit further contamination from acidic overspills of the town's sewers. He was sort of glad since he didn't really want to talk to a police person anyway. Not long after Mrs. Applebottom had found him, he'd released the lunch he had been so pleased to try into a toilet of the boy's bathroom. At least a piece of Candyfloss freshened his breath and cleaned HIS teeth. He'd really thought those other kids liked him and even the ones who might have still didn't do anything to help him. Mr. Wonka's warning made a lot more sense now. While he'd never wish revenge on anyone, it was like fate had already handled it for him...it seemed to have a habit of doing that around the candymaker.

"What kind of a man invents candy that explodes inside of children's mouths?!" Said one secretary to another while she glanced at the Bucket child who was clinging to his still unmarred wool coat, clinging it around himself like the hug he so badly wanted.

"The kind that looks like this." Responded the other in a gossipy tone, as she put down a recently purchased newspaper.

It was not the most flattering photo ever taken of the candymaker for this paper was partly owned by his competitors. His skin was the color of chalk, red lips curled in reaction to the prying reporter's questions, eyes covered by bugged out glasses that made him look like an alien wearing a top hat and a fur coat. "Ugh. He looks like an absolute ghoul. Is it really a good idea to have _that_ near children?"

"Seems to me it's a worse idea to have _children_ near Charlie." Came a young voice from the opposite end of the office.

It was the other girl, the one in the Alice in Wonderland dress who had invited him to the lunch table. She plopped down a different newspaper that had managed to capture a close-up of Wonka right after the he'd done the spontaneous somersault. In this one, the stunning violet eyes were visible along with an amenable smile and top hat being jauntily put back into place. "I think old Willy Wonka is nummy in a mysterious sort of way. Good thing he didn't pick a girl to be his heir, she might fall in love with him."

The two secretaries began comparing the photos and cooing, deciding which they wanted to believe in and attempting to gauge his age. None of which the boy cared to hear but couldn't tune out. The girl had a cute bob and was wearing shiny lip-gloss, it was a nice reminder of someone he was sorely missing. She proceeded to sit down next to Charlie and affectionately brush his forearm. He couldn't manage to keep from flinching. A caring look appeared on her face, "My name's Mary Sue, I'm the one that told Mrs. Applebottom what was going on and I've been back there spilling my guts to the Principal. Alexandria treated you like that because you were a threat to her status. I never plan on talking to her again and besides…she was a complete tart. "

Hesitantly, he glanced at the girl.

"You poor, poor duck. Here, I'll make you feel better." She smiled and leaned over giving him a chaste kiss on the lips.

Charlie was too startled to move. He'd had nothing to compare the candymaker's affections to until now. It was strange to feel lips his size against his own and to feel skin that didn't have any indication of ever growing a beard. The sensation was pleasant but…it lacked something – Mr. Wonka's touches were full of a 'zing' that made his whole body tingle, like he'd been starving for something that he hadn't even known existed. Instinctively he licked his lip a bit, but disappointingly no trace of sugar remained, only the greasy residue of her lip balm.

She looked hurt, "Didn't I do it right?"

"No, I mean, yes, you did it right. B-but you see I, uh, know that because I've already promised…" He looked down at the torn glove with the exposed gold band showing through. "..my _heart_ to someone else."

Mary Sue's jaw dropped, "A ring? A shy boy like you is going _steady_ already? With who? It's not Lizzy is it? You should know she's got a nasty skin disease. Positively revolting! Is it Margaret? She's not really white, her mother's half-Jewish. I can't believe you already have a steady and my parents spent a fortune on this frock and I've risked all my popularity to save your bum! If you don't agree to go on a date with me Charlie Bucket, I am NEVER speaking to you again!"

The boy was completely mortified, at having the rug pulled out beneath his feet yet again. She had seemed like such a nice, beautiful girl but here she was saying such ugly things. Even if his heart didn't already belong to someone else he certainly wouldn't date her.

Before he could speak, Charlie saw one of the most wonderful sights he ever could have hoped for at that moment. Thin as a rail and not quite as young as he looked, Grandpa Joe scolded the girl, "Young lady, it's usually the gentleman who asks the lady out and he certainly would never do so with a threat. Love can't be forced. You shovel off and think about that."

Completely intimidated, Mary Sue slunk out of the office leaving Charlie's appearance more clearly exposed. The old man was completely shocked, "Whatever happened to you?"

"..please, I don't want to talk about it. I…just want to go. I really need to see Mr. Wonka." The boy said in a tiny voice. It was all too much at this point. The look on his face had never been so miserable.

His elder didn't argue, a quick glance around, and while the two secretaries continued to hen peck the two slipped out of the main office and back toward their careful path home. Grandpa Joe stayed quiet as they slowly walked, believing that his grandson would open up when he was ready. But, the silence was disturbed by a familiar tin melody coming up behind them on the empty street alley.

A gasp punctuated the child's voice as he spun to face the ice cream truck, "Ficklgruber!"

The van drove slowly along side them, "How ya doin' my boy? Listen, I uh…I feel just awful about what I got you into. That was way outta bounds. What say I give ya the stuff back to make us even?"

It came to a stop and the driver in the plaid vest and bow tie held out the shiny treats for him to take back from the selling window.

Charlie's eyes widened at the offer, but Grandpa Joe gripped the back of the boy's coat. In his most dignified Public Relations persona, he stated, "I'd prefer that you handed them to ME actually, Mr. Ficklegruber. I'm sure that if your intentions are sincere then you won't mind."

"Sure Gramps, whatever you want." A broad smile revealed teeth similar to Mr. Wonka's but larger with a lot of gum tissue showing. The treats were dangled further out as the old man walked forward to accept them. "And it's Ficklegruber Junior, actually."

The boy nervously stayed back and watched, desperate to make sure that Young Mr. Ficklegruber handed them ALL back. He did not notice the back of the van open or the bulky form that exited until too late; large, muscular arms quickly seized and lifted his whole form.

"Mmphf!"

When Grandpa Joe turned to show his grandson the pile of recovered treats, there was nobody there. He looked back at the vested truck driver, whose expression had grown dark. "Run ya old fart. Run as fast as ya can back to Candyland and tell Weirdo Willy that he'll meet our demands or he'll never see his little heir again."

The old man's jaw dropped. "Y-you're kidnapping Charlie!"

"Oh yeah, yer a quick one all right. Next time maybe you shouldn't stick yer tongues out at us, huh?" And with that he commanded a second elderly man in a train conductor's cap and overalls, "PUT THE PEDAL TO THE METAL, PRODNOSE!"

A glimpse of a third bald-headed man holding his hand over the boy's mouth was revealed through the glass of the truck's rear windows before it turned and squealed loudly out of sight, mechanical music tinkling away.

"All the candymaker's are in on this, aren't they?" He muttered in astonishment. Grandpa Joe snapped out of talking to himself. He began to run for all he was worth toward the factory, exactly as Ficklegruber had suggested, praying for Charlie.

**Author's Notes**

**Charlie and the Chocolate Factory introduced me to much of the world of Internet fandom, therefore I have been learning as I've been going along. Getting the hang of FFN's many coding restrictions and (unwanted) automatic spacing has taken time. Please forgive the awkwardness of earlier volumes and works.**

**As always, the name of the tale is based off of the lyrics of the song "Is It Scary" by Michael Jackson whom I believe was partly inspirational to Burton and Depp's take on Willy Wonka despite their protests. Marilyn Manson however, was actually considered for the role and I do think he too makes a good comparison. My story however is NOT a statement on **_**any**_** entertainer – it is an exploration of themes, more of a "what if" notion. Do not over interpret these concepts or the religious ones; provoking thought and providing entertainment is my main goal.**

**The information about Alexander the Great, his army, Hephaistion, and Bagoas is historically factual. **

**"Scrumdiddlyumtious Bars" are from the first movie and I want one so **_**baaad**_** but I don't think they're real (certainly there are none in America).**

"_**And for a student to teach his teacher is both presumptuous and rude. Am I making myself clear?"**_** Mr. Turkentine is from the first movie and although he is NOT part of the book whatsoever, I enjoyed the Englishman's performance a great deal. It was very Dahl-like. The second movie didn't allow us to see Charlie's teacher, so why not him? The guy has to be one of the worst teacher's on the planet. Our golden ticket winner wouldn't go far in life with him giving the lessons!**

**Mrs. Applebottom is my own creation -- blame me, not Dahl, but she was inspired by his style.**

**Charlie's lunch: I was one of those kids who qualified for a "free lunch". I know from which I speak and that pipsqueak meal I used to get didn't usually hold me. I'd go home and gobble up enough food for my mother to state, "I don't have a child, I have a small pony!" I picked MILK and POTATO on purpose for the boy's meal. The Irish managed to survive on that because together they form a perfect, though perhaps dull, nutrition to keep a person going indefinitely. Cabbage would also add much needed roughage and vitamins (specifically A & C). The body would struggle, but it's my way of explaining why he wasn't sickly.**

**I uh, actually went through a very rough time in school like Charlie too (to put it mildly). Don't doubt that actual kids can be this wicked.**

**"Boy Wonder" is actually the term Batman would use toward Robin. I uh, thought it fit here as well.**

**The logo on the back of the cards can be found at my Deviant Art gallery, please come visit: idolhands(dot)deviantart(dot)com(slash)art(slash)W-Wonka-C-Bucket-Monogram-37454750**

**An olallieberry is a REAL thing and antioxidents are found in large quantities in this particular fruit - more than blueberries or raspberries. I sort of thought Willy would enjoy them for their silly name and the fact that their color is nearly black.**

"**Square Candies that Look Round", are from the original book. Rainbow Drops & Exploding Candy is also from the first movie. "Raspberry Kites" is from the second, though they didn't detail**_**what**_** they would do. All the others and the bucket-shaped box of candy were my brainchildren. That's what happens when you daydream in chocolate shops.**

"_**Spitting is a DISGUSTING habit!" announced one of the girls while picking her nose.**_** Was originally said by Violet in the first film, as she in fact picked her nose. **_**"I can think of a worse one." **_**Was the witty response from Wilder!Wonka.**

**The spot under your ribcage is your "solar plexus" and those who study chakras find it to have significant mystical properties.**

**Can you guess what the flower might have been? Perhaps **_**all**_** flowers have one inside of them? Lewis Carroll thought they might. Hint: it begins with "F".**

**Alexandria's name was meant to loosely echo the General that Charlie has been studying. Her last name was to put more emphasis on her nature and add a typically Dahl element to the writing, but I myself find the concept of a tribe of Amazons to be a fascinating lore.**

**The limericks are not mine, but real poems used in jump rope and Double-Dutch games. **

**British Slang: "Honky-Dory" means no worries; everything is Okay-dokey. "Whinge" is British slang for a whiner.**

**The muscular, bald-headed man who grabbed Charlie is NOT Slugworth. He's a resurrected character of mine from the first dark fic I wrote "Cravings". You can find that here on FFN if you've never read it or haven't in a while.**


	20. Volume 20

**Title:** Is It Scary, volume XX - Trouble at the Factory a Plenty

**By:** IDOL HANDS

**Rating:** Mature Demented Audiences (R)

**Warnings:** Dark & Mature Themes, Violence, Angst, Kidnapping, Alternate Paganism, Slash, and an under-aged/adult slash ("shota" or "chan") relationship.

**Disclaimer:** The characters portrayed are not my property but that of the estate of Roald Dahl, Tim Burton, Freddie Highmore, Deep Roy, and Johnny Depp AND Christopher "Daddy" Lee.

**Summary:** For far too long a silent war has been brewing. Ficklegruber, Prodnose, and Slugworth have resentfully lashed out against Willy Wonka in every way they could manage. Kidnapping little Charlie Bucket may be the lowest they've ever sunk but will it be enough to finally bring down their hated competitor? Surprises lie in store for everyone as old tensions and lusts come to light. In the past it was several against one, but the odds are different with the Bucket family involved, though perhaps not exactly as you remembered them…

"**All the other chocolate makers, you see, had grown jealous of Mr. Wonka"**

"_RIiiiSE_."

The voice was drawn out and unusually deep for the speaker. A psychotically willful expression worn upon the tilted back head of the candymaker, one arm forcefully extended as the soiled black bucket glove was slid off only to expose another; a pair made in a custom shade and to perfectly fit only one man. Layers upon layers, exactly like the person contained within.

People the size of elves from storybook fairytales flitted around the large standing form, removing the rest of his outer garb. A crimson doctor's smock was slipped off, white cross at the chest barely visible any longer from bloody stains matching the rest of the fabric. Multi-colored metallic threads shimmered on the exposed rainbow pinstriped vest with matching pants. The man's dramatically upright starched collar and flared French-cuffed sleeves remained as pristinely white as they had been that morning. With a quick polish of his W moniker, it too shone, but nowhere near as brightly as another silver object encased within The Puppet Clinic and Burn Unit. Perfection was always achieved, at any cost.

Slowly, but surely, in response to the commanding arm and voice, the figure cradled inside the smooth, pill-shaped capsule began to rise. Once fully seated upright, the drowsy, dark colored eyes focused on the chocolatier gliding over. He looked into his patient's bleary face and released a mirthful giggle, one rather out of place within the previous dramatics. Splaying out his fingers while saying with great enthusiasm, "I've wanted tah do that for _decades_!"

Mr. Bucket had no idea what this person was talking about. But that irritating trill of a laugh reminded the engineer what he was dealing with:

_**Wonka**_

It sounded like the punch line to a joke. Though his brain seemed to want to relate the sound to a weapon or a creature, the name of a _thing_, but not a person. Thoughts were coming to him as if through a thick fog, but some part of him was astounded to even be alive within this joke/weapon/person's vicinity. And then he realized, more than alive…he was AWAKE - breathing on his own and free! Securing one arm to either side of the incubator bed's rim, he pushed upward to hoist himself out of the object that had become his prison. A deep, gnawing pain coming from his right shoulder, quickly halted all efforts.

Adding to the effect of looking like Dr. Frankenstein's monster Mr. Bucket emitted a low moaning sound, "_Ugggh…_"

"Yeeah.. those goshdarn artificial limbs tend tah ache at the joints. You'll adjust to it eventually, but it'll always kind of bug ya. Sorry 'bout that, I haven't found a way around it yet." Said Willy with passing concern. A tugging at the chocolatier's pant material followed that comment. This caused his face to become truly kind, like a parent toward a beloved child, as he looked down at the tiny person doing the tugging. His Oompa-Loompa was acknowledged with an airy, "Hm?"

Wonka's expression shifted again as the sight of a fanciful telephone sitting on a velvet pillow was hoisted upward; it looked like the kind of exasperation one might expect from a disgruntled teenager. The phone, like the person in charge, was wearing only a veneer of Victorian antiquity. Touchtone buttons where rotary ones should be along with a lack of wires gave away far more complex circuitry inside. Both of the objects appeared humongous being held by such a petite being. The entire scene wasn't doing anything to help Mr. Bucket's already flummoxed state of existence.

Looking down at his faithful worker Mr. Wonka inquired, "Is it _him_ again?"

The dark-skinned man, hair as slicked back as his boss's currently was, nodded affirmatively.

There was a tisk and then a sigh as the grand chocolatier lifted the receiver an inch. As soon as he did so, a cavernously masculine voice could be heard yelling. Wonka rolled his eyes, proceeding promptly to put the receiver right back down, so as to hang up on the caller without ever having spoken to them. He looked back at Mr. Bucket, "That's like, the _third_ time he's called today! I mean, come on! Doesn't he realize how BUSY I am?! I got more than _cavities_ to drill here!"

A shoo-shoo motion was gestured toward the Oompa-Loompa with the phone. The little man quickly trotted away with nary an expression or comment on the situation. Another Oompa-Loompa had approached from behind the chocolatier on a tall, narrow little ladder that led to the top of Mr. Wonka's head. This assisting munchkin carefully placed down a navy colored top hat. A stripe of satiny cobalt appeared in the fibers under the brightness of the lamplights.

Mr. Bucket couldn't help but be mesmerized. He murmured, "Your hair…it's different, isn't it?"

"Oh, don't worry I didn't cut it or nothing, just had it slicked back this morning by my barber. Know why? Know why?!" That giddiness inappropriate for his age had returned. When an answer was not forth coming from the beleaguered engineer, he added with a sly self-satisfied sort of smirk and an eyebrow wiggle, "Because yer _son_ told me he thought I looked rather good this way when he was playin' with it. What do you think? _Am I_ more debonair this way?"

The father's focus slid back and forth then back to Wonka, "Son? I…I have a child?"

Clown-like sympathy appeared, "Aw, yer really not quite yerself, huh? Probably shock. We had to fiddle in yer brain a smidgen to get the circuits all connected, just a teensy, weensy incision under the scalp. But yes, Mr. Bucket, you have THE most wonderful little boy in the whole wide world. I know this because I like him, a great deal actually, more than I ever liked anybody, and I don't really like anyone anymore, so he HAS to be special."

"Chaarrlie?" There was a distant far away look as Mr. Bucket spoke the word. It too seemed alien, but in the exact opposite way that the word 'Wonka' had been; in a soft, cloud-like, wishful way… Then, something clicked - _hard_. Deep umber eyes met shimmering amethyst ones as the red lips beneath them parted into a perfect smile at the mere sound of his heir's name.

"Yes Mr. Bucket, Char—_urk!_" His sentence was cut short by two hands suddenly constricting around his throat.

The father's glare could have burned holes through the chocolatier as he stepped out of the capsule gripping his neck, "Keep your sick sticky hands off of MY son."

Mr. Bucket's stark white jumpsuit matched the dozens of knee-high nurses in the room. And every one of those nurses was currently at full attention toward the scene before them, button-sized eyes subtly glancing at the trays of sharp medical instruments still easily within reach.

"Glckt!" Was the only response Mr. Wonka could make, his fingers arched in pain, but communicative eyes silently transmitted a message to his workers for they stood watch, but held back any physical reaction. He gasped, struggling to speak a reminder of the father's own words; said not so very long, and yet what seemed like eons, from events transpired since. "Nnn. Hasss the boy **choke** SAID I've done anything he _didn't_ like? Has _HE_ **glerk** ?!"

A stare down took place as the engineer checked his extremely uncertain brainwaves. "…noo…he…he loves you..?"

Mr. Wonka whimpered an affirmative sort of noise, expression begging pity and implying damage being done to something so favored by the beloved child.

The wounded bird act took the desired effect as Mr. Bucket carefully withdrew his strangulation hold. It was then that the father noticed his own hands; specifically the right one and the entire arm that it was connected to as it _gleamed_ back at him. Yes, gleamed like an engine inside of a brand new hotrod. Mr. Bucket looked back up at Mr. Wonka who had been sure to back up several feet. The chocolatier was rubbing his abused fair strip of skin as the Englishman spoke, "Wot have…you _done_ to me?"

**cough** "Didn'tcha hear me a second ago?" He croaked, clearing his throat some more. A threatening expression flickering for mere seconds, only long enough to suggest that though greatly aggravated, no true peril or fear had been present. Mr. Bucket had once again been very lucky that Willy Wonka was not inclined to cease his life due to the very person he'd been strangled over. Still, he thought, that's one heckova' grip the guy's got now…

"It's an ARTIFICIAL LIMB, but not just any, THE finest that I, or anyone for that matter, has _ever_ built. Try tah wiggle yer fingers." His eyes bugged slightly as he nodded in encouragement. As soon as Mr. Bucket became distracted, one of Wonka's own arms reached behind his back. A cane was placed into that hand by one which dwarfed in comparison; a solid black one with a fanciful bone handle rather than the usual candy-filled design. Preventative measures needed to be taken in case his patience didn't hold out.

Still in disbelief that this chrome thing was now a permanent piece of his body, the man gave a thought to wiggle his fingers and the sleek silver replicas did obey. All the previously, astoundingly normal man, could think was that none of this was possible. Maybe he was having another one of those disturbing dreams and would wake up any minute now. He moved the fingers again. They clacked like the keys on a saxophone as he moved them from biggest to smallest then back again. It was entrancing in a disturbing sort of way.

The polish kept gleaming in the light; too beautiful to be awful, too awful to be beautiful.

Willy had dared to get close again, stroking the flawless metal surface as he smiled from ear to ear. His expression looked like a combination of derangement and sexual arousal. An expression that distracted Mr. Bucket enough to keep from jerking away as he pondered this new 'awful beauty' that seemed to surround him lately.

The chocolatier stated, "There are gears and tools inside, all different kinds, but that'll probably take ya longer to figure out. Still, when you do, you'll be the BEST dang engineer there ever was! I mean, who could compete with a man who is part machinery himself?"

A sharp, high-pitched laugh punctuated the next sentence as Mr. Wonka complimented himself and made another inside pun. "Isn't it positively brilliant?! Go! Go! Gadget Bucket!"

Mr. Bucket's response caught him off guard in the midst of all his cheer. The father sadly said in response, "Charlie will think me a monster."

"A _monster_?!" Anger, disbelief, and insult combined as Mr. Wonka's expressions and voice morphed again, "What's so MONSTROUS about havin' an artificial limb?! Lots of people have 'em and yours is… A. Work. Of. _ART_. Would you have preferred that I'd left ya horribly disfigured?! Would that've been better? Huh?!"

He pointed his plastic-coated index finger right under the uncertain man's nose, "Ya know, if you'da worn the fiddling jumpsuit, insteada those overalls, in the first goshdarn place then we wouldn't even be in this mess! But NOOoooo, you had tah be _special_, you couldn't BEAR to be thought of as a _mere_ Oompa-Loompa. As IF. You should be looking up to _them_, I tell ya what!"

Having paced away during his lecture, the chocolatier stood at a distance again, both hands resting on his hips as he huffed and waited for a reaction from the physically altered head of engineering.

The father looked at the strange man, whose gloves matched his eyes for no explicable reason that he could fathom, and found he wasn't angry at his words. Wonka made good points even if they sounded like they came from a snarky adolescent. Rubbing his shoulder, his response was. "You're right. Thank you…it still hurts though."

Some of the chocolatier's snideness melted away, "Yer welcome. And pain reminds us that we're not dead, Mr. Bucket. Eventually you'll get used to it, even come to depend on it…like an old friend."

Strange words from the strange man; he was always hinting, teasing, suggesting -- but never quite saying, a riddler worse than the Sphinx. Then there were those inscrutable expressions beaded amongst the ever-revolving bevy of cartoon ones...like the one he was currently wearing. More memories were coming back to him about this person; downloading like files into a computer.

Mr. Wonka did not care for the inspecting silence and pursed his lips, "Have we come to an understanding then? No more chokey-chokey the nice candymaker who gave ya the brand new shiny, super arm. 'Kay?"

_Candymaker_? That word in particular, among the string of jibber-jabber, sunk into his mind. It did not seem to even begin to describe this individual. No, he was far more than a 'candymaker'. Mr. Bucket shifted the arm a few times, examining the smoothness of the gears, the way one piece fit into the other with the barest of seams. He thought of Charlie and the cover of the book he'd been reading; if Leonardo Da Vinci envisioned the human body in metal it might have looked identical. "Willy?"

"Swell, ya remember MY name too. Yeah?" A set of Oompa-Loompas was replacing his velvet frock, the garment shifted through the spectrum like a color wheel sunset. The small men's eyes were still darting to the Bucket father with suspicion. However, their placid features were careful not to reveal a sign of malice.

The father's voice was mild and polite, "Willy…wot are you?"

An oblong mirror was being held up by yet more faithful Oompa-Loompas; he seemed to have an endless supply of workers waiting on his every thought and whim. Wonka paused mid-preening in front it. Charlie had tried a question like this too, but it turned out to mean something other than what he feared the child meant. More clarification was needed.

He attempted a casual chuckle to cover his nerves, "Pardon?"

Whatever seemed to be different with his mind, whether it was medication wearing off, or the trauma of loosing a limb, or something more, had relaxed the Englishman enough to dare to ask a niggling question. Otherwise he might never have had the courage to say what was his worst fear, no matter how ridiculous it sounded out loud. Pensively he added, "Well, er...wot are me and my family dealing with? That is…are you…_human_?"

That question caused the movement of everything in the room to cease.

Wonka fluttered his eyelashes a little, mouth parted but not yet speaking. Stepping closer elegantly, each footfall clicking along with cane on the sterile plated floor, he squinted, "Ya _really_ wanna know?"

"Yes. Please. No more riddles."

He stood directly in front of the Bucket father now, his face an annoyed sort of amused as it twisted in a mocking fashion, mulling over the question a little more, head bobbing to and fro while he rolled the black cane within his two hands. Eye contact was re-established as he shrugged, "I dunno."

They stared at each other for a second.

"No really…I don't. Not even when I look into the mirror. That is…unless lonely and terribly misunderstood count." The thick eyebrows had turned upward in contemplation as they stared into their own reflection. Indeed the image the man gazed on seemed foreign to him in some way. With urgency he adjusted his smile, quickly posing and putting the mask of "Willy Wonka the Amazing Chocolatier" back into place.

Another pause followed. Mr. Bucket was struck in a new way by the quality of his foe's voice; the way it usually sounded like a child trying to force itself through an adult's body. What if it all wasn't an act? What if he didn't realize his voice _should_ be lower, didn't realize its full capacity? Couldn't that one eccentricity extend as a metaphor to his entire being? There was actually a great sadness to his persona then. And there it was. He nearly saw a child inside the formal attire and implied old man, a boy perhaps as young as Charlie but as his son had said…without a soul in the world to comfort him. The only thing that had given him happiness apparently had been candy. No wonder he was completely obsessed with it. No wonder he was becoming equally obsessed with Charlie - the only _person_ bringing him true happiness. Unexpectedly, it all made sense.

The chocolatier waved the looking glass away. Gracefully he spun to turn his back toward the engineer. With a glance over one shoulder, a tinge of accusation was in his tone as he stated, "Do you ah, do you know what YOU are, Mr. Bucket?"

Without hesitation he calmly answered, "I'm Charlie's father and my wife's devoted partner."

It was such spontaneous, sweet honesty. He froze again. Back still turned, hiding a horrible lost look in the shadows, Mr. Wonka haltingly replied, "Oh. …those are..erm, nice things tah be."

The Oompa-Loompa with the telephone had trotted back into the room and over to his boss. For the timing of the disturbance, Wonka tisked at the object, twice as loudly this time. "Galloping goldfish! Doesn't Daddy have anything better tah do than bother ME all day long?!"

However, a negative shaking of the tiny head and peculiar hiccups of native language caused Wonka to lift the receiver immediately, "Hello?"

A broad toothy grin was flashed at Mr. Bucket as he said proudly, "Grandpa Joe! How nice tah hear your…."

A few seconds after the chocolatier's voice had trailed off, a loud clacking sound vibrated from the mouthpiece hitting the floor. Wonka was standing completely catatonic this time. Mr. Bucket rushed and picked the receiver up, holding it to his own ear, "Joe? Willy's gone all funny. Wot's going on?"

He could hardly believe what was being said into his ear either and repeated it aloud, as if to give the words real meaning, "Charlie's been kidnapped by the other candymakers?"

Hearing it a second time caused the chocolatier's eyes to roll back into his skull at the same time that his entire form began to collapse. It was Willy's turn to receive an unbearable shock to his extremely delicate system.

On instinct, as he had gone after the wayward Oompa-Loompa falling to his death, Mr. Bucket went to catch Wonka, his metal hand extended from its wrist automatically and wrapped securely around the back of the velvet dust jacket. The engineer quickly brought the rest of his body to meet up with his arm as it effortlessly shifted back into its sockets. It was positively astounding, but he'd have to figure out how the whole thing worked later, for currently he was in a _very_ awkward position. Wonka's limp head was lying against his shoulder and from the angle they were both at, the chocolatier's bright lips had brushed up against the father's colorless ones.

Having heard the news themselves, the Oompa-Loompas had been gesturing and huddling in a panic; too preoccupied to focus on the exact proximity of the two men.

Mr. Bucket had not wanted to drop or upset Willy. At least that was what he was telling himself was the reason for not pulling away, but it also could have been from that swell of pity he'd felt earlier, or left over curiosities from those haunting dreams; most as violent as they had been sexual -- things he'd never thought about in his entire life. He found the man's touch snake-like; it seemed too cool and smooth to belong to a living being. Wasn't there a story about a man, a woman, and a serpent in a glorious garden from long, long ago? He couldn't quite remember. But he _could_ recall that he and this living cipher had been angry at each other for a while. However, after the blow-up of this recent exchange he believed they were both left with a deeper understanding, a sort of sympathy, for one another. Certainly they both deeply cared for Charlie.

The engineer pulled away from the impromptu kiss and picked up the rest of the candymaker's body, a task he easily accomplished with the strength of his new limb despite the ache. Wonka's words on pain would stay with him. However, it was surprising how little his lithe formed weighed. For all the man's incredible power, he currently looked like an exhausted tot ready for bed. Some part of him at least was human after all.

A pair of the tiny workers followed immediately behind as he headed for the exit. One was clutching the famous top hat, another his equally important exotic walking stick.

The Bucket father eyed them, "I know you can speak English."

They nervously looked at each other, then to the rest of their clan behind who fidgeted in an equally tense manner.

"Just…help me get to Grandpa Joe."

The pair looked somewhat ashamed as one boosted the other to push the clear button, successfully summoning the infamous Great Glass Elevator. As the button lit up Mr. Bucket looked down at the dandy chocolatier in his arms and shame appeared on his face as well.

XXXXXXX

XXXXXXX

Psssst _…hssst…._

Psssst! _….hssst…_

Psssst! _…hssst…._

Psssst! _….hssst…._

Psssst! _…hssst…._

Psssst! _….hssst…._

An unpleasant hissing noise had been punctuating the silence for some time now. It sounded in a rhythmic pattern from a small breathing apparatus. A plastic pressure valve pumped air through tubes that traced around and into a clear mask upon the face of an unscrupulous individual named Slugworth. The old candymaker was extremely decrepit looking: face drawn, rotted teeth mostly gone, skin a sickly greenish-grey, body slumped in a high-tech wheelchair, but he was keen - his brain worked fine. The form looked more grotesque highlighted by the flickering light of a lone kerosene lamp.

All three competitors were standing around the dank, dim basement of Slugworth's Candy Shop plotting & whispering. The child had been keeping quiet, trying to make out every sound or word that he could. Not that he had much of a choice with a gag tied over his mouth. However, even with enhanced senses, it was hard to hear them over the ventilator. And Charlie certainly couldn't move closer to the conspirators for he was tied tightly to a series of lead pipes. And those pipes were near the floor, keeping his bare knees pressed to the chilly cement. Struggling had gotten him slaps as stinging as the ball of Mr. Wonka's cane, from the large man left in charge of guarding.

So instead of risking further punishment, the boy had been busying himself inspecting the environment; he usually did that anyhow - kept quiet and observed. One could learn a lot that way. Firstly, the entire area looked as if it could benefit from a good cleaning; burned out fluorescent bulbs, stained walls, empty burlap sacks, dusty powder remnants, and bubblegum wrappers littering the floor. That's how Charlie knew where he was. Because chewing gum that expanded to enormous sizes without ever popping or ever losing its flavor was the recipe that Slugworth had stolen. Maybe that was why Mr. Wonka hated people who chewed the substance all the time. As he pondered that, a rat's eyes gleamed at him from under the slovenly worktable. Mangy, thin, and oily: the rodent peeked its head out long enough to sniff and stealthily steal a remaining bit of candy before quickly defecating then dashing off again.

How applicable.

"It's freezing down here, Sluggo. Can't we get some heat going?" Complained Ficklegruber, while rubbing the tops of his arms. The elastic sleeve guards slipped out of place causing the fabric to droop. Charlie had definitely noticed certain passing similarities between all three men and his mentor. Curious.

"Forget it. Waste of…money. These are..hard times.." Said Slugworth in between the forced pumps of oxygen. His eyes drifted towards the third candyman, "The…note…read it."

Prodnose had been desperately trying to focus through a small pair of bifocal glasses resting at the edge of his nose, but Ficklegruber impatiently snatched the note away. The young man lifted it up to his own face, "Well for starters, it smells like peanut butter and jelly and the paper is shaped like slices of bread. Willy is still 'nutty' alright."

"Too bad it doesn't smell like him instead." Mused Prodnose.

Ficklegruber lifted his upper lip in disgust at him before reading the curlicue printed message:

_**To My Dearest Charlie **_

_**Since I'm deprived of being with you in stylish form, **_

_**I'll offer thoughts contained within this modest poem, **_

_**You're well onto becoming a grand chocolatier,**_

_**Perhaps grander than me one day for never had I a peer,**_

_**To serve so early in my youth as disciple or guide,**_

_**But more than those rudimentary tasks keeps me by your side.**_

_**I'm grateful to be far better at prose than at speech,**_

_**Sitting here and remembering my initial desire to teach,**_

_**The sum of my knowledge on everything I know,**_

_**To have someone of merit my sugar empire to bestow,**_

_**But as these dizzying days have so quickly passed, **_

_**I realize it is I who stands with more fortunes amassed.**_

_**Ya see, you aren't the only student within this factory,**_

_**Since truly the person learning most of all is me,**_

_**Chocolate and candy can hardly repay my delightful debt,**_

_**But I'll spend the rest of my time figuring more tricks yet,**_

_**Stick by my side forever and we shall most certainly discover,**_

_**Endless new things of which to be mutual lovers.**_

_**Give yourself equal credit in these brand new creations,**_

_**Soon we'll share them through televisions across the nations,**_

_**On the subject of things that I'm willing to share,**_

_**It's time to reveal the secret for Wonka products to my heir!**_

_**The last part requires the gentle warmth that I get from you,**_

_**It's printed in a special sort of ink that sneaks can't view.**_

Charlie started muffling and struggling for all he was worth. He didn't care if he did get struck again. That special letter from his jacket pocket had been meant for HIS eyes and HIS eyes alone. These awful, greedy men were never entitled to Mr. Wonka's sincere thoughts, let alone the potential secret for every one of his candies!!

"MrrrPF!! SsrHhFft! Raow Arhef!"

"M! Shut…Wonka's brat up! I've waited…wheeze my whole life to hear this!"

Psssst! _…hssst…._

Psssst! _….hssst…._

Two bulky laced boots attached to tight leather pants stepped toward the child. A face lowered down; a strong one with a jagged scar on its upper lip. Tattooed arms flexed under nothing more than a denim jacket with sleeves torn off. Charlie recognized a pentagram on one bicep among the entanglement of inked designs, but the star inside the circle was upside down. With a complete lack of hair, anyone's focus would easily slide down the equally bald and heavy brow bridge. Deathly cold eyes embedded within sunken sockets were devoid of anything kind – it was not a look the boy was entirely unfamiliar with, he knew what such eyes were capable of. They looked up and down Charlie's small body, pausing at the torn slit in the ruined rainbow sweater where a delicate nipple was exposed. A warning was given in a low, deliberate voice, "One more peep and I'll find _something else_ to put in your mouth that'll keep you really quiet."

Charlie cringed into himself, obeying "M's" provocative threat. The large man continued to look at the boy as a strange, pleased smile revealing a row of gold-capped dental work. He whispered, "Knew _just_ what I meant, didn't you poppet? Mmm."

Ficklegruber Jr. displayed the note, a sheet in each hand, there _was_ a second page, but it was blank. He stated with annoyance, "There ain't nothing else written here. You got ripped off kid, he ain't never gonna tell you nothing."

"Old trick." Wheezed Ficklegruber. "Hold it up…to the lamplight. Let the fire…heat it."

Seconds after it was held to the hot top of the lantern, brownish cursive script became visible on the previously blank page.

"Maaagic." Prodnose gaped in wonderment.

"No, letters painted in …lemon juice." Corrected Ficklegruber. "Read."

_**Okay, this part is too important to put into rhyme. The big secret to making candy, as you might have guessed, is magick! And the big secret to magick is believing. You got that? No matter what other garbage people tell you, no matter how many times they say, "Oh, it can't be done", YOU always have to believe that it can!**_

_**That's why I told you and your family that Grandma Georgina was the smartest. See, being smart isn't the same as being intelligent. My father for example is really intelligent, but he wasn't too smart when it came to some things, ya know? The HEART knows what the brain doesn't and if you believe it in your heart to be true, then it is. Next comes knowledge, talent, and of course rhythm to mix them all together in the right parts. That's most important, but you've got the first step already 'licked' in my opinion. If you were sittin' here (where you should be) you'd have heard me laughing after I penned that. Do well in school, but hurry home. I'll be missing you.**_

_**Your Candyman Always,**_

_**Willy Wonka**_

"It didn't say anything helpful anyway. He just spouted off typical Weirdo Willy nonsense. Pfft! Dolt didn't even spell magic right; he stuck a 'k' at the end of it _both_ times. What is this, another one of his stupid pranks?" As soon as those words came out of his mouth, the letter caught fire from being held _too_ close to the kerosene flame. Ficklegruber shrieked as it blew up into a bright array of light that took on the haunting shape of a skull in a top hat. Next, sparkling bursts of glitter came, lighting up the entire room. Then as if none of it had ever been, it simply faded away.

The young candymaker stood horrified and very badly singed.

Psssst! _….hssst…._

Psssst! _….hssst…._

"Lemon Juice?" Queried Prodnose, breaking the surprised silence.

"No…_THAT_, was magick." Stated M with weight in his tone. He and Slugworth exchanged a look of mutual understanding.

Slugworth was in deep thought. "Wonka…doesn't joke, Ficklegruber. He meant…every word…he wrote. And…lucky for my…assistant here, the whole thing seemed…_romantic_."

Charlie wanted to laugh, and scream, and cry. His young heart felt swelled with love despite how awful everything was because of the sincerity in the man's words. But not a tear did he shed, nor a smile did he allow, holding onto his resolve lest he never find it again. He believed in Mr. Wonka and understood _exactly_ what was meant in the note about magick. Along with a deeper understanding of, "You're my heart now." He also believed permission had been given to refer to the candymaker as more than mentor. If only he'd get a chance to say it, he thought as his heart beat faster still. Would he ever see his…'lover' again?

Psssst! _….hssst…._

Psssst! _….hssst…._

Prodnose stumbled over to Charlie, clumsily getting down onto his hands and knees in order to be at the boy's level. The old, stocky man was jubilantly anxious, "I-is that true? Are you romantic with each other?! H-has he _kissed_ you? He tastes absolutely incredible! Like ambrosia and ripe peaches and sangria wine! Am I right?! Am I right?!"

The boy's eyes nearly bulged out of their sockets! How on _Earth_ did _Prodnose_ know that?!

The candymaker anxiously nodded his head, causing his jowls to jiggle. It was the sort of humble face one would describe as a 'mug' -- not unpleasant, but thick in its features. He looked back at the other men, "See! See! I told you lads! And you've been calling me bonkers all these years!"

"Fine, fine. You're _both_ disgusting. Locking lips with Wonka. Ew. Blech." Said Ficklegruber Junior while shuddering. He was bandaging his burnt hands in gauze from a well-stocked emergency kit: the one place where money HAD been invested. However, little would help the singed, blonde eyebrows. He seemed a vain man and looked upset at his appearance in the cracked mirror.

"You take that back! I only did it to try and get those candy secrets out of him!" Prodnose retorted getting ungracefully up to his feet again, dusting the filth from the cement floor off his bulky form. It was peculiar to see an elderly man dressed in the costume of an old-fashioned train conductor but that had always been Prodnose's trademark. His family traded train engineering for chocolate making, according to Grandpa Joe.

The Ken doll look-a-like Ficklegruber shot a look right back at him, "And ya haven't stop talking about it since. My _father_ was sick of hearing about it. Fer Christsakes, it broke up your marriage! One make-out session and you go queer. Ridiculous!"

"You don't know. _You_ didn't kiss him…" Muttered the old man as he turned away from embarrassment. Followed by a childishly shouted, "I'm no poof!"

Charlie looked horribly confused, his bright blue-green peepers darting all over the place. Slugworth pushed a small joystick on his wheelchair and it mechanically twirled and whirred over closer to the arguing duo. "Leave…Prodnose alone. He took a bullet for us…and it drove him mad."

Then he squinted at the boy, wiry eyebrows knitted across his narrow nose; sticking out like the sewer rat's whiskers in places, "I wonder if his poison…**wheeze** will do the same to you…"

Sick of the entire subject, Ficklegruber stood with arms crossed over his plaid vest, "Homo, pedo, Voodoo priest, virgin sissy boy, whatever Wonka _really_ is, how the heck is he gonna get in contact with us?"

"Trust me…he'll find a way." Stated Slugworth aiming a wicked, gap-toothed grin at Charlie.

Psssst! _….hssst…._

Psssst! _….hssst…._

Psssst! _….hssst…._

Psssst! _….hssst…._

XXXXXXX

XXXXXXX

The elder Oompa-Loompas had already alerted Mrs. Bucket about the situation; gossip served as a powerful force within the factory. The woman had immediately dashed to find her father and the two were currently waiting within a room known as the Lair. This room was the chocolatier's main headquarters for deep thinking and serious business issues. You'd never find it if you didn't know where to look. Firstly, the elevator deposited one seemingly in the middle of nowhere. And second, because once a door HAD been found, one had to pass through the perplexing Wonkadelic Room in order to even gain access. A claustrophobic rabbit hole covered in mind-bending graphics, whose real trick was that its _entrance_ inexplicably became an _exit_ into the Liar if one knew how to correctly occupy it. She'd never have figured it out without Grandpa Joe's help!

Having just arrived, Mrs. Bucket wasn't sure which new vision was more shocking, the one of her husband upright and walking again or the one of him carrying the unconscious form of Willy Wonka. Mr. Bucket paused briefly to look at her in confusion then preceded to gingerly lay the breathing bundle onto a plush couch, an outlandish piece of furniture in the shape of a long curled tongue with clawed animal feet. At least it was substantial though, not cut in half like so many other objects in the office. Such as the loudly ticking clock with a melted face or his personal writing desk standing on two legs by some force other than gravity. Surreal aesthetics were pleasing to the candymaker, relaxing even in their disturbing nature and so his entire factory, and particularly his personal spaces, were decorated in these ways.

But the woman was most startled as her husband turned back to face her again, the metal his right arm assaulting her sight. So this was what the chocolatier had meant about having a brilliant idea to make him better than he ever was. She wasn't sure if she'd agree with that description, but it didn't matter. What mattered was that he was in her life again. Initial hesitation wore off and she walked into the arms of her husband…old and new alike. It felt good to lay her head on his chest again. But Mrs. Bucket did not receive the welcome she expected.

"Do I know you?"

She looked at him with startlement, "Sweetheart it's me! I'm just um, in a fancy gown because Willy left it as a gift. chuckle I feel like a giant cupcake."

He blinked at her a few more times then squeezed her tightly, nearly too tightly. The arm was going to take a lot of adjusting. "Ohhh, you must be my wife. I knew I had one. Forgive me, there's some after effect from the surgery. My memory is a little uh, 'wonky'. Only, I don't recall you having a stripe of red hair."

"Wot?" She looked at the strand of hair that he had pulled forward. Sure enough it was a shimmering shade of bright Celtic red. Didn't people usually go _grey_ from old age and stress? But a more important concern was on her mind. Her words felt like glass cracking, "You don't remember me?"

"I do…sort of. It's blurry. I'm sure it will come back to me. I already remembered Grandpa Joe, Wonka, plus our wonderful Charlie. And I recalled uh, how they were fond of each other. Actually…Willy heard what happened to Charlie and passed out straight away." He released the woman, looking past her shoulder at the man.

"That's because he cares so much for Charlie." Stated Grandpa Joe, gently studying the man. "We all do. They're horrible, wicked men those other candymakers who'll stoop at nothing to get those secret recipes. They stole a whole human being! A child no less!"

Mrs. Bucket started to weep at the thought of it all; fortunately her outfit had come with a matching handkerchief. "We have to wake him up. Willy will know what to do. He always does."

Before anyone could get over their hesitation to lay a hand on the unconscious chocolatier, there was the disturbance of banging; loud thuds followed by curses. "Who the hell designs a room that leads nowhere?! Damn it woman, you said this would work!"

In reaction to all the commotion, Mr. Bucket simply opened the office door.

A man in a military uniform looked all around himself in a circle. Then stepped inside along with an even smaller than average and unique Oompa-Loompa, "But-but this is the door that I just walked into! How can it suddenly lead to a room? Crikey Moses, how does Wonka do this crap?"

"Who are these people?" Asked Mr. Bucket, looking at a man about his own age and build with equally black hair but eyes in the palest shade of blue. He also examined the Oompa-Loompa who looked as if she had no irises at all and whose hair was just as white. His assumption that she was female (since both genders looked identical) was based on the fact that the native was wearing a long dress. It was splashed with vivid colors in a symmetrical pattern with billowing butterfly sleeves.

This time he wasn't the only one wondering who someone was.

"I am Madame Rose. You may know me as the portrait painter." She curtsied while holding on to an elaborately carved staff. Her voice had an alien, androgynous timbre. "And this is your beloved, known as George Bucket."

The rest of the family gasped at the young, handsome soldier who stood before them. He tipped his World War II cap.

Grandpa Joe exclaimed, "You took the Wonkavite?!"

"No, I started to use your daughter's new cold cream. Of course I took the Wonkavite! Three pills worth of the freaky stuff, because this is war! I need to be in tip-top shape for this. Isn't it grand how my old uniform fits again?" George struck a sharp military pose.

The Buckets were far too overwhelmed to comment or object. The turns in their ordinary lives were not to be believed! Mrs. Bucket managed to say, "Yes, it's…astonishing to say the least. You look to be my husband's age. How do you feel?"

"Full of piss and vinegar! It was tempting to get even younger, but I wouldn't waste the precious stuff after Wonka told us how difficult it was to make. Speaking of the old man, why is he taking a nap at a time like this?" He strode over to the couch. "Someone throw ice water on him for glory's sake."

Without any aid whatsoever, the tiny woman had also managed to walk over toward the chocolatier. Of course by her vision, Wonka glowed like a beacon. Madame Rose could have found him at the bottom of a well on another continent if she had to. "He's not sleeping, he's in a trance. I don't recommend ice water. It is very bad for him to be unconscious without the protective wards."

Joe said with trepidation. "Why does he need _protective wards_?"

"Because…unusual things have been known to occur when that imagination isn't controlled." Her doll-sized hands were hovering an inch above his form as she methodically moved them about.

"Like wot?" Insisted Mr. Bucket, wrinkling his brow slightly. How much more weird could things possibly get?

"Like the fact that it's currently raining frogs outside." Said Grandpa George matter-of-a-factly.

"Is it REALLY raining _frogs_ outside? How is that possible?!" Exclaimed, Mrs. Bucket.

Exactly as she said that, playful sounds from a miniature carousel that Mr. Wonka kept on his desk had begun playing on it's own, causing everyone to jump. That could have been excused as a coincidence, but then the tiny horses began walking off and moving around on their own. Grandpa Joe bent down to examine one of the creatures as it stamped and neighed, "I say, I've never seen them do that before. I don't suppose they're clockwork?"

Madame Rose was mumbling and chanting incoherent things.

The entire room began flashing through a myriad of colors, surroundings appearing to disappear into each other leaving even the integrity of the floor they were standing upon questionable. Lines in the paisley wallpaper had started to shift wildly; designs madly swimming about like amoebas under a microscope. The new patterns spelling out the same word over and over again:

_** R E S T O R E R **_

"What are you doing? It's getting worse!" Shouted Mrs. Bucket. An inexplicable wind blew about her hair and multi-layered dress. She clung to her husband as the whole family was clinging to each other. It felt as if the Lair was going to burst apart at any moment!

Madame Rose ignored them and continued with the task at hand, eyes sealed tightly she slowly drew back the carved staff and thrust it forward as if she was going to slam him on the head. But ceased the momentum a centimeter above the space on the forehead between his eyes. Then with the very tip of the cocoa bean shaped top, she ever so gently, 'bonked' him.

Mr. Wonka sat up immediately and everything went back to normal in a giant backward 'whoosh' as he screamed at the top of his lungs a desperate, "CHAAARLIEEE!"

He was quiet as his eyes came into focus of the surroundings.

"...that was the most terriblest nightmare I've ever had. I'm not supposta' have nightmares." Chest heaving, he looked around, his face morphed from childlike worry to sophisticated annoyance, "Why are all you people in my office? Wait…why am I in my office? Madame Rose! Howdy-do, what brings you here?"

"It wasn't a dream." She croaked, a permanent 'frog' in her own tone.

"Ya mean, Charlie's…really been…"

"_Please_ don't faint again, Willy." Mr. Bucket said, one arm out-stretched, the other clinging to his shuddering wife. He didn't feel one single bit foolish any longer for that earlier question. A few had formed about this 'portrait painter' as well. Nothing appeared to be what it was on the surface.

Joe was next to speak, and he did so gently, nodding, as you might to a vicious guard dog that you were attempting not to upset, "We need to get in touch with the other candymakers. We need to find out _where_ they are and _what_ they want."

Wonka slid his legs to the floor causing all of the Buckets to back up a step in coincidental unison. There was no telling what the man might do next, especially after that inexplicably bizarre demonstration. But all he did was remove his pocket watch. He flicked open the back to examine the maze of intricate ticking gears. The tremor of his hand was nearly imperceptible, but all of them noticed it anyway. The candymaker spoke softly in return, "Yer absolutely right Joe. We _do_ have to contact them. My watch is connected to the one I gave...Charlie. He's in Slugworth's factory."

"Well let's attack them there then! Bomb the joint!" George announced.

A slight smile managed to form on Willy's face then, "Aren't you lookin' Wonka-vital today? Sharp uniform too."

"At your service." He saluted, the chocolatier quirked one eyebrow in amusement.

Wonka began, rising to his feet. "As tempting as your offer is Gran-, er, George. I don't think a direct attack…especially where my heir is..being held is the best course of action. It would also cause quite the commotion in this little town. No, I..I believe its time for my old friends and I to see each other again. Face.. to Face."

"But what DO they want?" Mrs. Bucket re-stated with panic.

With scorn Madame Rose replied, "What they've always wanted…"

Face not exactly complacency; not exactly any emotion that could be labeled since what was being presented clearly wasn't whatever was truly being felt. But the eyes, they seemed to have turned some sort of sinister – a way that he held them had changed somehow. Slowly, he spoke, distant and demented, the slightest turn at the side of his mouth, "And…they're going to get it."

**Author's Notes**

"_**All the other chocolate makers, you see, had grown jealous of Mr. Wonka."**_** is a quote from Grandpa Joe in the book and film. It also sums up a lot about life in general.**

**Somebody slap Idol Hands for the blatant Star Wars reference in the opening scene. Didn't get it? Two words…Darth Vader. Mr. Wonka's other ever-so-mature personal joke was in reference to Inspector Gadget, a DIC cartoon that my sibling and I enjoyed **_**thoroughly**_** in our youth. Oh, and it's also a movie (2 actually). Yawn.**

**PLEASE LOOK HERE: i13.photobucket(dot)com(slash)albums(slash)a300(slash)idolhands(slash)maddr(dot)jpg**

**Horror + Mayhem + Dr. Frankenstein's Monster + ****Young Doctor Frankenstein**** the movie + Willy Wonka + Gene Wilder You get the connection. **

**Part of my concept of Mr. Bucket's arm would come from Sorayama's artwork of 'Gynoids'. Scans of male androids from my personal Sorayama collection - the artist **_**rarely**_** uses men as subjects. Replace the the (dot) and (slash)es with the real thing in your internet address to see images. Otherwise FFN eats the links.**

**1. i13.photobucket(dot)com(slash)albums(slash)a300(slash)idolhands(slash)LeonardoDaVinciGynoidstyle(dot)jpg**

**2. i13.photobucket(dot)com(slash)albums(slash)a300(slash)idolhands(slash)SorayamaMan(dot)jpg**

**3. i13.photobucket(dot)com(slash)albums(slash)a300(slash)idolhands(slash)gynoi000(dot)jpg**

**XXXXXXX – I'm using these to create a break in a scene, in case you haven't noticed, again because otherwise FFN eats my spacing. Why I can't have 4 spaces in between text is beyond me.**

"**M" you may or may not recognize as the brute who sold the look-alike urchin, Sebastian, to Mr. Wonka in my dark slash/shota story ****Cravings**** found in this very forum. Reoccurring original fan fic characters? Is that bad? I'm as surprised as you are. **

**It really has rained frogs. Learn more here though I like my explanation: **

**1. allaboutfrogs(dot)org(slash)weird(slash)general(slash)raining(dot)html **

**2. paranormal(dot)about(dot)com(slash)library(slash)weekly(slash)aa082602a(dot)htm**

**Nobody but me probably remembers a short-lived sci-fi series called ****Earth 2**** starring Tim Curry who played a delightful degenerate. In the series he made potentially dubious friends (we never found out his true motives) with a young girl whom he provocatively nick-named, "Poppet." I liked the character's whole vibe, but didn't focus much what more could be implied until recently.**

**The Note****: I SWEAR I wasn't going to have Mr. Wonka rhyme again. However, as soon as I started typing, it was like my fingers got possessed. Writing letters in lemon juice really will work. Squeeze out a lemon then dip a paintbrush in the juice and write the letter. Allow it to dry and **_**very carefully**_** hold it up to a small flame like candlelight and the letters will appear.**

**All rooms are based off of a real list created for the films. ****The Wonkadelic Room**** appeared in the first movie. I sort of missed it. So, it's back.**

**Anyone who loves Gene Wilder's portrayal of Willy Wonka is probably as fond of his surreal office as I am. I imagined that (Etcetera! Etcetera!) on top of a Daliesque theme running throughout, hence the tongue couch (my invention) and melted clock. For those of us struggling with reality, surrounding oneself with things felt/seen inside of OUR mind is satisfying even if it disturbs others.**

**You can find an illustration of the scene with Mr. Prodnose talking to Charlie titled "Death by Chocolate" in my Deviant Art account:**

**Idolhands(dot)deviantart(dot)com(slash)art(slash)Death-by-Chocolate-60891655**


	21. Volume 21

**Title:** Is It Scary, volume XXI - Volume Twenty-One: Origin of a Prodigal Son

**By:** IDOL HANDS

**Rating:** Mature Demented Audiences ®

**Warnings:** Dark & Mature Themes, Violence, Angst, Kidnapping, Alternate Paganism, and an under-aged/adult slash ("shota" or "chan") relationship.

**Disclaimer:** The characters portrayed are not my property but that of the estate of Roald Dahl, Tim Burton, Freddie Highmore, Deep Roy, and Johnny Depp.

**Summary:** Mix in the ingredients, cook them together and stir the pot. How did the stew get so hot? Things could have been different, could they have not? Willy Wonka himself was as carefully crafted into a creative genius and conniving gourmand as sure as any one of his satisfying secret recipes. How will the presence of the other candymakers affect the mix? And what of one small, Charlie whose been dropped into this boiling bucket of fate?

**Special Treat:** If you'd like, you can read the first part of this story in a storyboard form (replace "dot" and "slash" with the real thing) by putting these links in your address bar:

i13(dot)photobucket(dot)com(slash)albums(slash)a300(slash)idolhands(slash)Ringcopycopy(dot)jpg

i13(dot)photobucket(dot)com(slash)albums(slash)a300(slash)idolhands(slash)WillyCryingcopy(dot)jpg

i13(dot)photobucket(dot)com(slash)albums(slash)a300(slash)idolhands(slash)WillyReachingcopy(dot)jpg

"_**No son of mine is going to be a chocolatier!"**_

Thunder rumbled overhead, marking the passage of another bolt of bright lightning. A storm was immanent. What had they said in school about Shakespeare's plays? Dissent in the Heavens reflected discord on the Earth? That sounded about right.

It was the first night that the child had ever spent truly alone in his entire life. He wore the same old-fashioned, itchy, woolen schoolboy uniform that he'd left the house in that morning. The same sort of outfit he was forced to wear every single day. But today he sat desperate and perplexed within an alley that had never existed before. The alley's creation was the result of the inexplicably swift absence of his entire home along with his sole family member, a Dr. Wilber Wonka. Awkwardly the boy turned his rigid form left, right, and backward. He even tilted his head toward the looming bruised sky, awaiting his father's return from all possible directions.

"_**Go ahead, but I won't be here when you come back!"**_

Those HAD been the towering dentist's last words. The stern man never joked but this…this…was impossible! Where had he gone to?!

As the night wore on, the child shivered in his short pants. He fruitlessly tugged at the white cotton socks, trying to get every last centimeter of warmth out of their elasticity. Tug as he might however they would never be enough to cover his knobby little knees. Dampness crept into the air; it wasn't exactly raining, it was more of a spritz, similar to being sprayed with spit, like when cruel classmates kids blew raspberries into his distorted face. He suddenly wished he had that scarf or coat he'd been lectured to take countless times. But the boy had felt particularly rebellious that day, hadn't he? Yelled at his Papa then 'stormed' right out the door as if he would actually travel the globe to become the world's greatest chocolatier! Well, The Flags of the World section at the museum wasn't a bad start.

The child sighed glumly, lips permanently parted into a gruesome mock of a smile by the wired anchors of braces that traced all the way back to a valve at the base of his skull. He looked more like an appliance than a human being; a more complex design to align teeth had never been created. Dr. Wilbur Wonka patented the device and it certainly won him prestige within the medical communities. His son had been instructed to feel pride rather than humiliation by wearing it in public. Objections were met with the insistence that limiting it to night use wouldn't obtain the _maximum_ effect (nor would it show the invention off to its fullest). If anyone would have teeth beyond compare it would be this man's child. Yes, Dr. Wonka lived by the creed that those who demand perfection often get it. And so the boy sat, his father's breathing, walking testament to _function_ above _form_, knees and gums mutually suffering from chill. His father believed that pain built character. And Willy himself would one day grow to be quite the character and would live to repeat the phrase, "Pain reminds us that we are alive."

Perhaps the mean old man would decide that one night in the cold wet would be enough to teach him a lesson? He wondered. Another bolt of lightning cracked, flashing through the soot-colored clouds.

Then again…perhaps not.

After all, his father had probably discovered the many things Willy had 'borrowed' before leaving, stuffed deeply now into his knapsack – personal things Dr. Wonka kept hidden: a strange cane with a bone handle, a double-edged black dagger, old books filled with complex text & bizarre illustrations, and a precious pouch containing jewelry marked as his deceased mother's. The missing horde would surely infuriate his controlling Papa.

Access to these items came from the discovery of an old set of keys. They had hung on a tarnished brass ring kept in the furthest reaches of the many apothecary jars on the doctor's highest shelf. Despite all warnings and punishments, the child was a renowned snoop. How was he supposed to resist such tantalizing curiosities, particularly under the alluring guise that they were all _poisonous_? The little boy had slipped contents of this and that into classmates' food discovering that though the ingredients could have unfortunate consequences, none so far had proven _deadly_. It was too bad since the world could have done with a few less of those rotters. But it revealed his father's fib, leaving the boy to sleuth deeper during those rare absences when his every move was not being observed.

Most of the objects Willy had grabbed for "survival" purposes in his far-fetched dreams of confectionary exploration, but the jewelry was the only pieces of his mother that existed; nary a photo had he ever been permitted to see. In the seriousness and sadness of his situation the lonely child decided to pull out one of the mysterious items. By a flash of lightning its shine of gold, silver, and ruby captured the future candymaker's rapture – such a fine thing it was. The scrollwork on the side, a complex pattern of Celtic knots, meant nothing to the lad at the time. However, the curved silver hands around the heart-shaped stone were easy to understand.

Love.

An emotion, which eluded him though, he craved it just the same. If only he'd had a mother, certainly she would have taught him; cuddled him and told stories that didn't frighten him, without a doubt she would have rallied on his side and let him eat candy, and she never ever EVER would have let his daddy disappear like this…to-to leave him alone in a cold, dark, uncaring universe.

The child tried to emulate his father's stiff constitution but tears began to flow anyway.

"_**Crocodile tears! I should sell you to the gypsies with such an act!"**_

Even without physical presence, he could hear the man's stern voice give the usual insults rather than sympathy in these sort of situations. The boy could not throw off his emotion and imaginings of harsh words only caused him to cry harder. Protective denial wore off. It was all sinking in.

Really, what WAS he going to do? How would he survive? Was there even a point to trying? Would his father prefer him _dead_? Would HE?! As the thoughts piled and mounted inside, the cries had become howls of pain, echoing between the perpendicular brick walls. A light appeared in one of the bedroom windows, on the outer facing of the rectangular box-shaped building. Windows on the side would have been quite impossible with the buildings previously squashed right against each other; demanding quiet imaginative play of the mind so as not to disturb the sensitive neighbors who were prone to complaining.

A voice shouted into the darkness, unable to see the child, "SHUT your _bloody_ YAP, you _steewpid_ MUTT!"

The boy immediately ceased all noise, reflexively reaching up to cover his mouth and cutting himself on one of the many sharp metal edges that encaged his face. It stung, but he did not cry again. He held in the pain as he'd often done when his father tightened the contraption.

_Mutt_?

The boy supposed that was all he was at this point, just some abandoned animal. Large, coal eyes much like a lost puppy suddenly widened with panic. Oh please don't let them call the police! He thought. Don't let anyone _ever_ find out how I stupidly disobeyed my father and am now forced to suffer this humiliating punishment for the rest of my life! A minute sob escaped on that concept, but the neighbor decided they had been successful and slammed the window shut. The light went off leaving the night deathly black again.

Willy Wonka, son of a dentist, decided right then and there, within that minute bracket of time and space that he must not be worthy of love. And his heart began to harden.

XXXXXXX

XXXXXXX

There was no telling how long ago that scenario happened, but it was on a night not so different from tonight and not so very far away either. As if life had become as frozen as the frigid weather. The town's near permanent cold _had_ increased steadily over the years, damp frost glazing over every visible surface. A moon wide with silver light, not quite full, caused the scene to glitter beneath its cosmic view. In a populous composed mostly of simple people with simple dreams there were few souls awake so late. And those that were could not appreciate the enchanting view; for despite all outward appearances, this was not a tranquil evening.

A great clock rang out dull chimes, masking the noise of a lone ice cream truck as its worn rubber tires turned down the empty streets and toward the town's center stage, the immense monolith which marked this bleak place worth mentioning at all – **Wonka Industries**.

_Bonnnngggg….._

_Bonnnngggg….._

_Bonnnngggg….._

_Bonnnngggg….._

Sounds would echo slowly until the count of a dozen was reached, marking the onset of "the witching hour" as some called it. Gates to the magnificent chocolate factory parted ghostly, as they only did during the earliest hours of morning, and even then, only when _strictly_ scheduled. The truck entering was noticeably dinky and pale in comparison to the polished, bright-red armored ones it parked alongside. Black-tinted windows were worth noting as no form could ever be seen to actually drive the mysterious Wonka vans with their delectable contents. But many could be seen through the dusty windows of the Ficklegruber 'Never-Melting' Ice Cream truck. One by one, each body filed out cautiously, the last in a wheelchair.

_Bonnnngggg….._

_Bonnnngggg….._

_Bonnnngggg….._

_Bonnnngggg….._

Four of them craned their necks up high to take in the chimneystacks that climbed toward the stars, built-up soot on their exteriors causing the phallic cylinders to eventually blend into the tone of night. It gave a virile feel to any who looked though they probably were never certain why. Attention next went to the expanse of the building, how it stretched as far left and right as anyone could make out, mysterious curved chambers and boxy geometry contained all the promise of truffles filled with surprise centers. Never in their lives had the men been so close to "the largest chocolate factory in history, _fifty times_ as big as any other " as Grandpa Joe had rightly described it. It was a mighty thing worthy of awe and praise.

_Bonnnngggg….._

_Bonnnngggg….. _

_Bonnnngggg….._

_Bonnnngggg….._

As the last chime rang, Slugworth could be heard to announce with great gasps of satisfaction, "Say 'ello..to our new…_home_, lads!"

One small voice helplessly whimpered at that, but it was drowned out by a new set of echoing sounds filling the silence.

ribbit!

RI-bit! _Urrp._

**hop. hop. **

_blork._

**hop.**

_Brrop!_ ribbit.

RI-bit! RI-bit! _brrock._

"Uh, wut's with all the frogs?" The question came from young Mister Ficklegruber as he bruskly kicked one out of his way. The competitive trio of candymen found themselves inundated by an unpleasant chorus of belching coming from a plethora of unexplained amphibians. They had missed the televised event of their downfall with the rain after the toxic leak. Events in the boring town had been very exciting that day, but the new dawn promised to get stranger still. For the second time, a rare spectacle was to be seen – part inert, part mobile, the distinguishing differences for which was who up for debate.

_crrreeeaaaaak…_

**Swwoooosh!**

In the ever-changing realm of Willy Wonka where reality and fantasy blurred regularly, a receiving dock easily morphed into a theater. Broad panels slid open in opposite directions revealing dazzling colored spirals as the backdrop to a band of motionless, perfectly painted kewpie dolls. Each figurine was ossified in cheerfulness, donning aprons and wielding cooking utensils. The kitsch presentation harkened back to a bygone era of aesthetics. Regardless, it continued on as one of the many facets living inside whatever the shell of the world's #1 chocolate maker was made out of.

Ficklegruber sneered, Slugworth grimaced, but Prodnose grinned back at them, round cheeks and distant gaze matching the puppets. The men had no way of appreciating the effort that was put forth to restore the previously melted cheerleaders (including "Johnny") from the cursed day of the grand tour when their business sales fell to an all-time low. Unlike then however, no fireworks went off and no cute melody played out. But _exactly_ as on that fateful day, a hidden panel opened on the floorboards.

Expressions fell as a mighty throne rose up; a shade of crimson so bold, colored the cushions that it could be made out even under the muted twilight. Golden trim worthy of Louis the XIV's palace shimmered like antique picture frames. And there, seated in the ostentatiously opulent chair, sat a slender form with legs casually crossed - all detail lost to deep shadow. However the identity of the silhouette made up of a top hat, a fur-trimmed coat, and one hand propping up a lengthy walking cane was unmistakable. The King of the castle had arrived.

"Is it him, really _him_?" Prodnose whispered, squinting through his bifocals.

"It…better…be." Heaved Slugworth with a sharp look toward his distraught young prisoner.

The question of the stranger's identity was answered when a one-of-a-kind voice, gently masculine with a musical lilt called out with unexpected mirth:

"Gentlemen, wilkommen, bienvenue, _WELCOME_!"

Relaxed posture transformed into a dancer's grace as he stood, fully claiming the stage for his own. Footfalls, elegant like a thoroughbred horse sounded as he stepped forward, both arms warmly extended. The bead of his key fob and chain of the pocket watch tinkled, expensive fabrics brushed against each other. A silvery white beam from the moon served as a natural spotlight, begging the question, and not for the first time, of whether Willy Wonka bent nature to his whims or it did so for him.

The man tilted his head up, only enough to expose the eerie smile that was his lifelong fate to bear. The warmth in his voice came off as false as the alignment of the endlessly flat, luminescent teeth:

"_Wie schön wäre 'ne Pause jetzt _

_Wo keiner schreit und keiner hetzt _

_Und jeder einfach mal die Schnauze hält _

_So ein Tag wär wunderschön _

_Es würd' uns so viel besser gehen _

_Ein Durchatmen für die ganze Welt."_

A formal bow followed the chocolatier's poetically spoken German phrase.

"…he's completely fucking insane…", Muttered Ficklegruber with concerned astonishment.

Slugworth warned, "No…funny business, Wonka. That…was our agreement."

Psssst! _….hssst…._

Psssst! _….hssst…._

Psssst! _….hssst…._

Psssst! _….hssst…._

Much needed air was forced through the excited man's decrepit lungs before he continued, "Remember…our bargain. One false move…wheeze and the boy gets it."

He couldn't be seen, but another whimper sounding nearly like his name confirmed Charlie's presence. The two were still shadows to each other, neither could see the other clearly but both could see that the other was still alive – still a part of each other's world distorted as that world might be.

Wonka took a deep, jagged breath that had nothing to do with a breathing apparatus. This was indeed going to be a tricky game. For a fraction of a second, from under the brim of the top hat, there was a glimmer of flashing colors – pupils more like warped cat's eyes than the usual playful twinkle. He responded, "And _I_ am a man of my word merely greeting you in the native tongue of some of the greatest chocolatiers."

There was a twinge of amusement as Wonka continued, "A pity none of you understood. Now please, do come up here so that we may get a better look at one another…my _old_… friends."

He slowly waved them upward, the gesture made more dramatic by the fanciful clothing and shining glove. Spinning on a tall heel to walk through the display toward the back as if he had no worries whatsoever. It left the other candymakers without time to object and besides they were all too anxious to gain their ill-gotten prize. Charlie was hoisted up like a sack of potatoes as the rest walked or wheeled forward. Without a word the men came up the ramp, following the candyman and entering the legendary factory through a gapping doorway. None noticing that the large archway was decorated to resemble an enormous mouth with an elongated rug like a serpent's tongue beckoning them inside.

XXXXXXX

XXXXXXX

Psssst! _….hssst…._

Psssst! _….hssst…._

Psssst! _….hssst…._

Psssst! _….hssst…._

"Im…possible." Stated Slugworth after a long pause.

Astonishingly, the comment was not aimed toward the idle golden hands on the wall that sprung to life and grasped their coats phantom-like (a bizarre improvement resulting from The Bucket's suggestion that dropping things on the floor was not in good manners). No, it was because within the factory, in decent lighting, the long-time competitors had finally had an opportunity to give each the once over, which had turned into fifth-overs. Prodnose yanked his conductor's hat back from one of the hands and stepped in front of the group, jaw agape, lifting his bifocals up and down. He gasped, "You-you look exactly the same."

Face to face, despite the passing of so many years, Willy Wonka barely looked any older. And with his hair currently slicked back, he did look nearly as they had last seen him – as a mere shopkeeper with a single store on Cherry Street. As if time really had stood still for him. It was as ethereal as it was disturbing.

"Pftt!" Ficklegruber spouted, his American accent strong, "Except he's the color of the walking dead. Geez, Willy ya really DON'T ever leave this factory, huh? There is such a thing as sun lamps, ya know."

Wonka didn't seem to notice the insult. Had he, then Ficklegruber might have gotten a comment about the fact that he could stand a little less time under said lamps unless he was attempting to become a roast beef. But instead Willy's _full_ attention was on their innocent captive.

Bound, gagged, dirty, dusty, clothes torn - Charlie couldn't manage to make his eyes meet Mr. Wonka's but he could feel their intense gaze upon his body. Being near his mentor again was like those savored nibbles of chocolate on his birthdays, the ones that he'd fantasize about all year long. And still it was always with guilt that he enjoyed those bars. He didn't feel worthy of being the only member in the family to get a treat and he most certainly didn't feel worthy of anything at the moment. Maybe wanting things was bad. Maybe it was what led to all the trouble in the first place. But still…he wanted it…so _very_ badly whether it was 'poisonous' or not.

Soft chestnut-colored lashes lifted up. The child couldn't speak a word through the tight gag, but those inexplicable blue twinkles in the candy genius's eyes met watery, sad, ocean-colored ones. For a flicker they exchanged a mutual silent glee at seeing one another again. Then the light quickly faded as a tear ran down the English boy's cheek. He lowered his gaze again as another tear dripped down. Everything about his posture spoke of guilt.

The self-absorbed man had recently learned to care about another person's feelings, allowing him to realize that his heir must be blaming himself for the current awful circumstances. Willy slowly shook his head as one gloved hand reached out; noticeable squelching noises came from the latex. The other three candymen stared at the oddity and the growing nearness. But before any grape-colored fingertip drew near enough to touch – rough, uncovered hands pulled the child further away. The gloved hand ceased, Wonka's posture became wooden as his eyes traveled all the way up the large and brutal looking individual who firmly held what he considered by all rights to be his. As the boy had seen so often, within a fraction of a second his idol's character dramatically shifted - false smile vanishing entirely this time.

The chocolatier's voice dropped down by octaves as he queried, "I'm sorry, have we met before?"

Though the forms were opposites in every way, one bulky, one slim, one in gentleman's garb and one dressed like a biker, the look in the eyes locking on to one another was perfectly matched; both wicked and equally cold - neither looked away and neither blinked.

"Name's **M**. You know, like a **W**, only _upside down_?" Said the unsavory man restraining Charlie. He gave a lazy smirk as he spoke.

Wonka tittered, the lump in his throat bobbing ever so slightly. The chocolatier was actually not amused at all. Glare still fixed, he stated with threat laced under gentle tone, "You promised me that the boy would be unharmed and here he stands bruised, his lovely new clothes torn to ribbons. What about yer end of the deal? Hm?"

Psssst! _….hssst…._

Psssst! _….hssst…._

"WE…did nothing. The _children_ at his school…did this." Said Slugworth snidely, an expectant look on his face as he observed his long-time rival.

Cherry-stained lips parted into an 'o' and thick, perfectly arched eyebrows reversed into pity. Then the features hardened again, "I don't believe ya. If it's true, take off that ding-dong gag and let Charlie tell me himself!"

"Ding-dong?" Murmured Ficklegruber.

"He…doesn't curse. Too…_good_ for that." Slugworth said with sarcasm before nodding for the binding cloth to be loosened. The cloth had in fact been the lariat Willy had so carefully (and erotically) placed earlier around his throat. It lay there again now, loosely, but Charlie still did not speak only released a tiny dry cough.

Wonka cocked his head downward toward the boy. His voice was suddenly gentle as spring rain against a bedroom window, "Did school children really do this to you?"

A shamed glance to the side preceded a meek nod. Barely above a whisper, guilt still present, he admitted. "They were jealous, sir."

The cane creaked, bearing Willy's weight as he steadied himself - dizzy with emotion. He forced himself to meet M's vacant, browless eyes again. They searched each other but the battle of wills was not the same this go round – something had changed, something Willy had found he could not control. The large man's smirk grew wider. What had he exposed? The candymaker swallowed hard and rotated his head; quickly he'd changing focus to the nearby fellow in the bow tie who seemed obviously less of a challenge, although equally aggravating.

A quirky smile re-formed, "And who would you be?"

In an unimpressed tone the young man answered, "Ficklegruber Junior."

"You're his…heir. Francis had…a _son_." Willy paused a strange length of time and seemed to be looking at nothing at all, his eyes tilted downward, pose rigid. The blonde-haired candyman said something else but the chocolatier heard nothing, only mildly aware that something was spoken he gave a distant, "Huh?"

Once again a disturbed expression crossed the youngest candymaker's face as he examined this world famous figure. Ficklegruber re-stated himself like he was talking to a deaf person, "Where. Are. The. Rest. Of. The. Buckets?"

That caused a stiff blink. Face awkward Wonka darted his eyes around and stated with a slight shrug, "They're preparing to move out. You don't need some stuffy old family annoying ya once you take over, right?"

"I don't know. Grandpa Joe seems useful enough. Guess he'd need a wife to look after him. The news said Grandma Georgina was your new idea woman and her husband is more on top of gossip than the paparazzi. The tot's Dad is working on your top-secret project and his Mom is easy on the eyes if you catch my drift. _Soooo_, change of plans, I'm thinkin' we should keep the whole lot of them. We can't do _all_ the work around this _fortress_." Said Ficklegruber confidently, hands on hips.

The other men nodded and murmured agreement.

"B-but Charlie...he-he…" Willy could scarcely believe the words spilling out of his mouth, "..needs his family."

Ficklegruber grinned wide, exposing large capped teeth, "Oh, the lil' squirt is welcome to stay. I'm sure M won't mind being his new _playmate_."

M's finger deliberately found its way under a tear on the tattered rainbow sweater to caress Charlie's exposed skin. A distressed whimper followed. There was no point in expressing rage or begging for mercy. Any objection could be dangerous. These men were terrible people who had long been led astray; their words and their promises meant nothing. As the candyman was coming to understand being human, so was the boy coming to understand what it meant to truly be in those fanciful shoes of his mentor.

Willy's face in that moment seemed to indicate that he could actually shoot laser beams from his sockets. His strength returned and he practically ceased to look human. The child's sensitive ears picked up the lowest rubble of a growl which grew into, "I ain't gonna show you parasites one more square inch or explain one single secret until that _filthy_ beast removes himself from MY..er, ah, Charlie! Preposterous! Why d'ya need such a _brute_ to control one helpless little boy anyhow?!"

"Quite…right." Answered Slugworth with a limp-armed gesture toward his assistant. He seemed to be pleased with Wonka's angry reaction. There was more than one manipulator at play in this chess game. Charlie was released, held by Mr. Prodnose instead.

The so-called 'filthy brute' was clunking his lace-up boots toward the chocolatier. Willy's face scrunched up in nervous uncertainty as the man drew right up to him. The hot nostril air being blown onto his delicate skin reminded him of fighting bulls in Spain. So did the ring through the middle of his foe's nose. Briefly, the candyman shut his lids in disgust. And in that second the wrist of the hand holding his cane was tightly gripped and placed into a metal cuff.

_**click!**_

M said slowly in his deep voice, "I'm actually here to restrain _you_."

They locked eyes again. In a high voice at great speed Wonka retorted, "In a pig's eye! When donkey's fly! _Restrained_?! NEVER! not I!!"

"Greeaat, he rhymes too." Ficklegruber added another oddity to the growing list.

The chocolatier attempted to tug his arm away, but it was immediately pulled back and twisted within the cuff links, causing the cane to drop with a fluty and pained, "Augh!"

Prodnose gave a panicked look toward Slugworth who only spread his thin, cracked lips into a smile and watched the scene unfold like a circus show. Ficklegruber picked the cane up from the floor and gave it a twirl, joining the small audience.

"Mr. Wonka!" Charlie shouted and also began to struggle. Prodnose wasn't a young man but he was stout and definitely strong enough to control a skinny child not even into his teens. Ficklegruber waved Wonka's cane up to the boy's chin, pressing the end sharply into his skin, with a fierce look he stated, "Don't do anything stupid kiddo or your teeth are gonna be as broken as they are crooked. Really should have them fixed anyway."

"Shut up! He's perfect the way he is! Leave him alone! It's me you Zeroxed zeroes want! Let me go and we'll get on with the tour!" Wonka continued to struggle while shouting.

Slugworth squinted at his competitor. "I'm…a sporting man. If…Willy can get free…he can stay…free."

Upon hearing Slugworth's terms, everyone's attention immediately went back to the battle. The hired thug's throaty laugh was ended by a surprisingly solid punch to the face. The candyman shook his free hand in comical expression of pain while M smiled, showing off his unbreakable metal teeth. Obviously someone had pulled that trick before. He repaid the sucker punch by grabbing Wonka's other hand and knocking his forehead into the pale one, causing a top hat to fall to the floor. However the chocolatier's stumble did not lead to a fall. They both looked impressed if not somewhat surprised.

"Gee, we outta _tango_ more often. But next time I get to lead." Willy quipped. Up slipped a leg as high as a Rockette dancer's to slam into the broad chest of Slugworth's aid. But it wasn't withdrawn quick enough to keep him from grabbing the slim ankle connected to it. Even Willy's very last limb was used to sweep under M's foot and set him off balance. Unfortunately that led to the huge man falling on top of him.

"Ugh! Get offa' me you steroid-pumped hairless mammoth!! Ya smell worse than a spoiled brat soaked in rotten garbage!" He shrieked, pushing upward, eyes squinted shut. This much touch really was torture to his sensitive nature, even if it had been fun to show off in front of his young friend again.

Mercilessly, the man pressed his muscular weight down while whispering provocatively into the curve of Mr. Wonka's eardrum, "And you smell of sweet candy, reminds me of _children_. Yummm."

THAT was distressing enough to cause Willy to collapse. Plus wresting was definitely M's expertise, he deftly got the smaller man's arms uncomfortably behind his back and handcuffed. After which he hoisted the chocolatier to his feet, exposing hair disheveled into its usual bobbed style. Both men's chests heaved from their efforts. Lurched forward, arms behind his back, Willy blew a stray strand of long hair out of his face. A sneer of annoyance at the others followed. M stared in disbelief over Willy's shoulder at them. He'd been told he'd be restraining a feisty, old man not an androgynous fop whose body felt like it was made out of steel springs!

Slugworth cackled a dry laugh. "I told you he was stronger _wheeze_…than he looked. And now we know exactly…_kaff_ how strong."

Ficklegruber laughed along, "He's been hiding _hair_ too. What do you think you are? A knight from the middle-ages?! I mean, Dad had said you were old-fashioned but that's ridiculous!"

Mr. Prodnose commented, "I think he looks rather nice with longer locks."

The other men stopped laughing and sighed in annoyance. Captors did not compliment their prisoners. It was basic evil training.

"Oh, and I suppose a pompadour is the latest trend?" Willy scoffed at the young man's bouffant style. He squirmed within M's grip and glared at Slugworth, "Or maybe I should try shiny and bald."

"Can't we gag _him_ instead?" Said Ficklegruber flatly.

"Unfortunately, no. We'll be…requiring that giant…mouth of his." The wheelchair whirred forward toward their long-time rival. The shriveled man occupying the seat craned his neck upward, addressing the sometimes child-like man exactly like he was a child, "But _wheeze_ we'll get something clear first. You…are NOT in charge anymore. We are. And…if you are _good_…very good…_gasp _maybe I will let you stay as…an employee."

Easy as he might have snapped every brittle bone in Mr. Ficklegruber's withered body, in that moment there was nothing Willy could do. To the fire of reds and blues flickering in the candymaker's eyes and to a body shaking like it would explode from anger, Slugworth added, "That way…once in a while…

Psssst! _….hssst…._

Psssst! _….hssst…._

"You could still see…your darling Charlie."

All struggle ceased. The man bowed his head, form becoming limp within M's grip. A heartbeat passed or the empty space where one should have been. Willy Wonka lifted up his face. He looked toward the child. He remembered how the boy had stood by those he cared about and a thousand other special moments that could not have existed without this new addition to his life. Despite the defeated posture, the features and voice were unusually calm. Wonka stared back at Slugworth, "Well then, yer wish is my command."

**Author's Notes**

**Firstly, I suck. Right? laughs But seriously, you all are right, I DID leave you on a cliff hanger. Second, I consider myself LUCKY to have people who take the time and have the courage to leave me those reviews. Thank you, I know each of your voices stand for many who, like myself when I was younger, do not speak up. I will tell you a personal tidbit as part of an explanation. I began college this year after quite a while out of school. Writing this tale (and a few others) took nearly every minute of my spare time when I was doing it and it was worth it, not only because it freed my own imagination but because there was a deep satisfaction in sparking others. That being said, I do not have much spare time anymore and I can't afford to be totally burnt out at school or I'd keep pulling my all-nighters. Shit, these days I pull all-nighters just to keep up with homework!**

**To a reader named Scarlett, you understand EXACTLY what I'm hinting at and it was your comments at SPLAT! That spurned me to finally finish this volume. Thank you. Louie X, you are on to something as well, very clever. Onitsu, your question is answered in this chapter. I'm sorry if it upsets you, I do warn that this is shota/chan story and the first chapter states that Charlie has only been in the factory for weeks (not years) – he is as old as he is in the film. However, I did write a story where Charlie is 15 called "Sweet Inspiration" on Wonkaslash and I understand your concerns, really I do, but remember these characters are fictional. It's OK to get "excited", further…there is a special bond between these two particular characters that I'm suggesting surpasses age difference. ScathingSarcasm, you're forgiven for giving me a laugh. OK, I'll stop addressing people personally here. It's been suggested to me once that this is obnoxious. I don't mean it as such. I mean it to let you know that I "see" you all and your words are appreciated though not expected. bows head **

**OK, all that being said, here are my REAL notes with some tasty artistic treats!**

**Here is art from the previous volume (20), a joint effort between myself and another artist found in my Deviant Art galler ("idolhands"): idolhands(dot)deviantart(dot)com(slash)art(slash)Death-by-Chocolate-60891655**

**Here is the full artwork, progress and original sketches done to accompany this volume:**

**Idolhands(dot)deviantart(dot)com(slash)art(slash)No-Son-of-Mine-Young-Wonka-49344173**

**Story notes: Shakespeare did use the sky to add drama/set moods in his plays. This technique is still used today and dates back to the times of ancient theater. Also, "****The Tempest****" is a famous play written by him with great focus on a storm.**

"_**The man never joked but this was impossible!**_**" This is a re-interpretation from the original book which makes multiple references to the fact that Wonka "never jokes".**

"_**Crocodile tears! I should sell you to the gypsies with such an act!"**_** - This is a phrase from my own youth. It is based on the fact that crocodiles appear to cry when they clean sand out of their eyes but they do not do so from true emotion as man does. Gypsies are often thought of as scam artists and performance artists hence that reference. I'm not aware that they 'buy' children, but it certainly scared me into thinking that I could in fact be sold to strange people if I didn't behave myself. At this age however, I think Gypsies (whose name comes from the origin of Egypt) are fascinating.**

"**Gentlemen, wilkommen, bienvenue, welcome!" are words from the opening of the musical ****Cabaret****. I could see Willy in that role as well as in the one German singer, Bela B., who originally spoke the following German lines in the music video "Tag mit Schutzumschlag": www(dot)viva(dot)tv(slash)Stars(slash)Player/id/125702/assetid/33169/type/video/interid/89/asin/B000EU1K3M **

**The chocolatier makes it a point to keep abreast of all the news of the world, so how could he possibly miss German Rock video featuring macabre humor along with an homage to himself? The lyrics from the second stanza translate to:**

_**How lovely it would be for a break now,**_

_**Where no one yelled and no one annoyed,**_

_**And everyone simply shut their mouths.**_

_**Such a day would be wonderful.**_

_**It would do us so much better;**_

_**A breather for the whole world.**_

**Golden hat-grabbing hands is not a reference to my pen name but rather an element from the first film, ****Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory****. I've said it once and I'll say it again, I have room enough in my large, mutated heart for all the incarnations of the characters.**

_**The hot nostril air being blown onto his delicate skin reminded him of fighting bulls in Spain.**_** - This scene was mildly inspired by Bugs Bunny from Loony Tunes, in the episode where he fights the bull. Random but I do get a kick out of those cartoons.**

**I talked about Genie's in my personal journal not too long ago. All I can say is that you should reflect upon those you've seen depicted. I see a comparison in this creature of lore and our favorite chocolatier. It's so interesting to view Wonka from different/various angles.**


	22. Volume 22 Part I

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**Title:** Is It Scary, Volume XXII - PART I

**By:** IDOL HANDS

**Rating:** R

**Warnings:** Dark & Mature Themes, Violence, Angst, Hostage, Slash, Paganism and an under-aged/adult (shota or chan) relationship.

**Disclaimer:** The characters portrayed are not my property but that of the estate of Roald Dahl, Tim Burton, Freddie Highmore, Deep Roy, and Johnny Depp. This perverse cocktail of intellectual insanity however is my fault.

**Dedication:** To those who still believe. You hold the key.

**Music:** Michael Jackson's Dance Floor (from where the title comes. - Mpeg4/iTunes):

www(dot)mediafire(dot)com(slash)?f4tvmytafbf

**Summary:** Be careful not to bite off more than you can chew or you're liable to end up with indigestion. Willy Wonka is especially blessed in the department of choppers but will his biting wit and gut instincts be enough to pull through this toxic concoction of greed, desire and avarice? Invading, kidnapping candymen aren't the only ones in the chocolate factory _fudging_ truths; ulterior motives and secrets abound, winding and becoming unwound, Buckets and Oompa-Loompas caught within a swirling tow.

**Note****:** As a tip, making your window smaller, like a book, can help with reading longer texts.

**"And who gave you the right to scare my family?"**

"Those BASTARDS!"

Every Bucket in the room jumped at Grandpa George's sudden (and rather loud) appearance. The puzzling passageway of the The Psychedelic Room didn't prove a problem this time as he barged back into Wonka's office, known as The Lair.

"Those _absolute_ BASTARDS!"

Was repeated with vehemence. The formerly elderly man had been anxious to put a Wonkavited body and former military skills back into use -- sending himself on a scout mission to observe the negotiated trade between long-time rivals. "Every descriptive insult the old man ever used to describe those other candymakers was fully deserved! In fact, he was far too polite!!"

"They're not really going to let Charlie go, are they?" Grandpa Joe said forlorn, unfortunately personally familiar with the decayed character of these individuals.

"Sure they are, as long as each of us stays to wait on them hand and foot _including_ Wonka. Oh, but you should've seen that crazy candyman put up one bugger of a fight against some bodyguard twice his size! It was killing me to stay hidden rather than putting a new hole in that tattooed punk's arse!"

Mrs. Bucket gasped, looking at the vintage war pistol strapped to Grandpa Joe's side. Could this situation really come to _murder?!_ Mr. Bucket held her tighter, careful with the mechanical arm. The woman stated to her husband's father (who currently could pass for his brother), "Remember, we don't want to do anything too rash. Nothing that would cause them to harm Charlie or Willy."

Everyone nodded in unison at that.

"What's their next move?" Said a deep, androgynous voice from near the floor. They'd almost entirely forgotten the presence of the tiny Oompa-Loompa woman!

Out of respect, for the family had seen Madame Rose wield incredible skill at this point, Grandpa George got on one knee to address her. Their outfits gave the impression of a soldier bowing before a faerie queen, further adding to the non-stop surrealism and confusing metaphors of Wonka's life and universe. George crossed his arms and thumped his chest in greeting as the natives did, knowing that the sound would reach her ears even if blind eyes couldn't see it. "They want a formal tour of the factory like the others got, starting by meeting each of us at our workstations."

She nodded calmly. "Then my people and yours shall function with that knowledge. Are our lead--, uh, employers unharmed?"

"Charlie got a little roughed up at school and Willy's wardrobe took a hit in the skirmish, but otherwise they're both fine." He stood back up and added. "Wot makes me sick though, is they have them both in handcuffs!"

The old soldier looked toward his family, determined icy blue eyes the same at any age, "As if they're the criminals!"

**XXXXXXX**

**XXXXXXX**

An expanse away, at the very same moment that Grandpa George issued that ironic protest, Willy Wonka's gaze had wandered to the very same silver circles restraining his heir's arms behind his back. In previous circumstances, this sort of bondage had proven lusciously erotic. Of course, that was when it was his idea and he'd been in control.

They quietly trudged down the long throat of the entrance hallway. Charlie's face met his mentor's, still sorrowful.

The chocolatier managed a chuckle. He deliberately shimmied the cuffed wrists behind his own back, causing the metal chain to jingle, "Heh, heh. Look, we still match."

His reference was to the carefully chosen clothes from that morning; each having picked a rainbow motif for the day, not knowing that the other had done exactly the same. It was one of many signs, since they'd met, that the pair were mysteriously suited to one another. The edges of Charlie's bow-shaped, soft pink mouth bent upward.

To Willy it felt as if a symphony of perfectly tuned instruments had begun to play!

The world famous man congratulated himself on having done it again, gotten exactly what he wanted for his efforts. In this case, his divine wish was nothing more than a simple smile from a simple person who evoked things inside him that could be described as anything but simple. Under such dire circumstances it was equivalent in satisfaction to getting the final solution for any one of his impossible confections. For there had been many days when the great Willy Wonka had asked himself if life was worth continuing with, painful times before he found the sprites that became his loyal workers. Even afterward, there continued to be moments of struggle; nearly loosing his factory forever had left the chocolatier with this lingering sense that despite all he'd created and accomplished, despite people from Timbuktu to Xanadu knowing his name, something was missing, some key, like that first taste of candy which had given his bleak youth any purpose those many, many years ago. Without that missing element, there was a void, an emptiness beckoning in a Siren's song toward doom. Previously, he wasn't even afraid of dying -- he flirted with it and dared it regularly. _Could_ anything kill him? Did it even matter?

Lavender eyes twinkled at the boy. It did now.

Fickelgruber Jr.'s jaw was agape as he stared at dozens of miniature men lined up in neat rows to greet the newcomers. "Leprechauns? Your candy is made by leprechauns?! You gotta be kiddin' me!"

Slugworth gave his horrible, rotten-toothed grin; staring at the same picture he saw a rather different scene. His voice sounded genuinely complimentary. "Ssslaves…wheeze _marvelous_. I didn't think…Psssst! _….hssst…._ you had it in you, William."

That statement completely snapped Wonka out of his deep pondering. "What?! _Everybody_ knows that leprechauns only work for gold and that they make _shoes_, not candy. THESE are genuine Oompa-Loompas, imported direct from Loompaland, who most certainly are NOT slaves because they are paid in my best cocoa beans, which are _more valuable_ than gold!"

A second later he added, sounding chipper, "And unlike leprechauns they don't get drunk on the job. They wait until afterwards."

Willy and the diminutive people nodded at each other to confirm the factuality of that statement.

"Wouldn't they need money to buy stuff?" Mr. Prodnose also inquisitively looked the Oompa-Loompas over, tensely squeezing Charlie's shoulders, the captive he'd been put in charge of.

"For what? Everything they need, anything they can _imagine_ is right here inside my— er, _the_ factory. Besides it's much too cold outside for them to go shopping; they're accustomed to a tropical environment."

"Yes, it appears…you've created quite the warm, peaceful paradise for yourself…smack in the middle of Hades."

Psssst! _….hssst…._

Psssst! _….hssst…._

"I thought Hades was supposed to be a hot place." Replied Charlie innocently, recalling his lessons in Greek texts.

Continuing to closely restrain the factory's rightful owner, M answered with wisdom and emphasis. "Slugworth descends from Nordic Vikings, they believed Hades or Hell was a freezing wasteland; stinging, merciless, lifeless as the vacuum of deep space."

Once again the brute managed to make the boy shiver. Charlie knew too well the torturing discomfort of constant coldness.

"There are all sorts of Hells." Willy said flatly, while squirming under the touch of someone he found utterly repugnant, mental similarities notwithstanding. Fate was such a fickle mistress -- one step forward, two steps back, and forever whirling about him in such grand displays. Who would it favor today? Who would it punish? And could he possibly trouble it for a cup of hot chocolate?

A flustering of the little men doing cartwheels suddenly interrupted the dark topic of conversation; aerobic dance moves and a quirky jester-like melody were struck with usual synchronization; a playful beat contrasted against the serious moods of events.

_**Ha,ha,ha, He,he,he,**_

_**Ha,ha,ha, He,he,he,**_

_**Ah yes we, Oh yes we,**_

_**Ah yes we, Oh yes we,**_

_**Love that tree! Love that tree!**_

_**Beloved, beloved cocoa tree!**_

_**Welcome you gentlemen three,**_

_**Welcome to HE and HE and HE,**_

_**So very busy shall you be,**_

_**With countless new discoveries!**_

_**Ha,ha,ha, He,he,he,**_

_**Ha,ha,ha, He,he,he,**_

_**Perhaps you find us hokey,**_

_**But don't mind the jokey-jokey,**_

_**Or how we tease and pokey-pokey,**_

_**Sing along like karaoke!**_

_**Whoopie! Whoopie!**_

_**It'll be Okie dokie.**_

_**Whoopie! Whoopie!**_

_**It'll be Okie dokie.**_

_**Any whim you decree,**_

_**Juice, coffee, wine or tea?**_

_**We obey as well as emcee,**_

_**Never, ever will we disagree!**_

_**Your desires are a guarantee,**_

_**Provided with nonstop jubilee**_

_**In musical dancing potpourris**_

_**From happy, busy worker bees!**_

_**Whoopie! Whoopie!**_

_**It'll be Okie dokie.**_

_**Whoopie! Whoopie!**_

_**It'll be Okie dokie.**_

_**Ha,ha,ha, He,he,he,**_

_**Ha,ha,ha, He,he,he,**_

_**Don't you worry! No sir-ee!**_

_**Don't you worry! No sir-ee!**_

The last part felt performed purposely for the benefit of their former employers, slipping by unnoticed by the new ones. Their bodies had formed a pyramid and the Oompa-Loompa on top winked at them. Charlie managed a faint smile at them as well, his mentor's fondness for the workers becoming equally embedded; leave it to the clever people to weave a hidden message into their lyrics, like their own essence, to find a tiny way to restore any sense of hope. What was further clever was that they had hidden the entrance to The Chocolate Room (which had also become home to The Buckets) behind an immense monogrammed curtain.

_Ba-OooogaH!!_

_Ba-OooogaH!!_

The people parted to reveal an old-world, yet futuristically stylized jalopy sounding its rowdy horn. It appeared from virtually nowhere, given the distraction of dancing and singing cheerleaders. Quickly the diminutive people hopped aboard, a few even up to the rooftop where mysterious valves and a lookout tower were located. Various gears, pedals and levers inside required the assistance of many tiny hands and booted feet; every man knew his place and each was equipped with a small chauffeur's hat shining with an interlocked pair of W's above the brim. Exposed was an ample interior; curved plush seats with chrome trim and track lighting harkening to the days of old Hollywood. After the center doors sprung open, a floorboard dropped to turn conveniently into a lift; none need worry about balance or managing with Slugworth's wheelchair.

"Thoughtful little buggers, aren't they?" Commented Prodnose. He sat next to Young Ficklegruber Jr. along with Charlie, across from the other men.

"They can get naughty every now and again but once they're broken in, they're virtually harmless." Wonka grinned in a way to suggest reassurance, shifting uncomfortably within the restraints in a way to suggest intolerance. "So uh, where to first?"

"Grandpa George." Mr. Slugworth stated assertively.

A nervous swallow could be traced where the bear patch of skin at the chocolatier's throat was exposed. He glanced at the workers, beady eyes immediately connected to his own. Another reassuring smile was forced as he looked back at the party, "Of course. Whatever you wish."

The Oompa-Loompas all also smiled obediently and began to sing again, this time a more familiar tune:

_**The wheels on the bus go round and round**_

_**Round and round, round and round**_

_**The wheels on the bus go round and round**_

_**All through the town.**_

_**The door on the bus goes open and shut**_

_**Open and shut, open and shut**_

_**The door on the bus goes open and shut**_

_**All through the town.**_

There was more behind the child's expression of concern than that for his grandfather. It was for the man seated across from him as well, who hadn't been swaying to his worker's melodies as usual. The youngest Bucket knew Mr. Wonka was an individual of tremendous sensitivity, yet he'd been acting remarkably calm in a situation where a mental breakdown would've been expected! How was he holding himself together and how much longer could he manage? At the moment, no answer could be discerned. It was part of this new torment, so close together were they and yet incapable of true freedom, of even the barest touch, that it felt miles away.

_**The baby on the bus says, "Wah, wah, wah!**_

_**Wah, wah, wah, wah, wah, wah!"**_

_**The baby on the bus says, "Wah, wah, wah!"**_

_**All through the town.**_

_**The people on the bus say, "Shh, shh, shh,**_

_**Shh, shh, shh, shh, shh, shh"**_

_**The people on the bus say, "Shh, shh, shh"**_

_**All through the town.**_

Wonka tilted his head downward, giving an impression of defeat, but with a sly smile hidden in shadow like his thoughts. These men thought they were depriving him of something. They were wrong. Wrong as his father had ever been. Just watching Charlie breath again had been a gift -- the weight of that horrible void had lifted. Such joy he got from the reserved movements of this innocent soul; even as the boy sat and suffered in his guilt, there was a subtle beauty to his entire form. One that sent a rush through Willy's system, a sensation that could not be controlled by a dying man in a wheelchair, his goons, or a paltry pair of police cuffs. A glimpse of chaffed skin on slender knee, leading to the suggestive fold in woolen shorts, could send his ingenious mind racing in a thousand pleasurable directions. The candyman would always have "butterfly kisses"; always know the taste of virgin flesh and adolescent nectar. Flicking his lids closed, so exactly could he recall those memories. Secrets. Sweet, seductive secrets. The thrill of hidden pleasures was discovered at the same age as his heir, appropriate then, for he to have introduced the notion to his chosen one -- enchanting that they would forever share them. How could these ignorant, jealous people keep him from his delights and so-called perversions? Preposterous! They couldn't possibly begin to understand them.

And speaking of things, which could not be understood easily, the Oompa-Loompas who had nested themselves atop the car's roof, signaled in their native sign language to even more workers unseen in the distance. But none inside were focused on this, not with vaulted factory rooms with names like One Tonne Soup, Pocket Billards, Double Bubble, and Rumpled Stilt Skins zipping by.

Driving down into the intestines of the factory, Charlie Bucket wondered if this alternate path leading right, rather than forward, had always been the true entrance? Then again, who was to say which way was ever which within a labyrinth? Rather than ponder if Augustus' doom had truly been planned, the boy focused on the fact that this was possibly another sign that more was under control than he feared. Because this time, the destiny of everyone he loved was at risk…

_**The mommy on the bus says,**_

_**"I love you, I love you, I love you"**_

_**The daddy on the bus says, "I love you, too"**_

_**All through the town.**_

Grandpa Joe, Head of Public Relations, had stayed behind within The Lair, to see what could be done about preparing statements to various news sources. Some record left behind by the family of their experiences and feelings seemed in order. At the very least, it was a distraction from crying. His wife and Grandma Georgina had remained at the house, "holding down the fort" as his brother-in-law had put it. It might not have looked like it to others, but The Buckets were survivors, their family had seen many hard times and made it through. Mr. Wonka was family now too. They wouldn't let him down.

Grandpa George and Madame Rose had taken off in The Great Glass Elevator, or rather _one_ of them. For a second, impossible, perfectly transparent clone arrived immediately thereafter to pick up the remaining descendants.

"Holy Mackeral!" Shouted Grandpa Joe, "You mean they might have a collision?"

Wonka's main advisor left with the rather unreassuring quip, "We've always been lucky so far!"

The little people were always making jokes, just as Willy had first said, even at a time like this.

Mister and Misses Bucket, man and wife, were the only two people inside the doppelganger as it pulled away, in the opposite direction, along the same track. Finally with a moment of privacy, oddly enough aboard a transparent device, she kissed the slender man gently but lingering. Her touch was welcome and familiar though not that streak of red hair. Warm lips replaced the former sensation of the candymaker's icy ones. Her finger traced upon the shining metal of his new arm - things were different with him as well. She stated sadly, "I only just got you back, I don't want to lose you again."

Husband looked at wife, another piece of humanity returned as the golden necklace gifted to her by the candymaker glittered. He traced the female shaped charm with artificial fingers, metal tapping against metal, Mr. Bucket whispered, "He can dress you in lace and jewels but you were always my goddess. You'll never lose me. I won't leave you and Charlie alone in this place. Not if they have to make every part of me out of tin."

They held each one another for a moment, sliding through Last Mango in Paris and making a twirl into Brilliant Sunsets -- dreams everywhere, nightmares and nonsense too, no matter where you turned there was no escape.

Mr. Bucket spoke again, "Are you sure we're doing the right thing leaving this up to Willy and the Oompa-Loompas?"

"While you were in the hospital, I had a private conversation with Willy. I asked him what his true feelings were toward Charlie." Mrs. Bucket looked up at him, chin resting on his chest. Mr. Bucket's eyebrow rose up though he stayed quiet and continued to listen. She finished her thought. "He's worth more to me than every last doggone cocoa bean in my whole factory. Those were his exact words."

To this sincere reassurance, her husband only responded with, "How often were you alone with Willy?"

She looked at him perplexed, then away as guilt snuck in through a crevice of recalled events – handsome features under pie dough, lingering sugar-scented embrace, a flicker of eyelashes against cheek. She found herself quoting the candymaker again in response. "Well I wouldn't say _often_."

The eyebrow arched higher as their transportation dropped into Self Raising Sours. "Do you care for him?"

"Of course I do. How could I not? He's more of a child than Charlie sometimes, so silly and unpredictable. But there are moments when I'm not sure if I worry for him or…about him." She turned her pointed chin into the cup of her hand, looking further away in shame. "That's a terrible thing to say."

"No, it's an honest thing to say. It's exactly how I feel, especially with him so close to Charlie all the time…the way he looks at our son…"

Her brown eyes found his again, she gently brushed the new arm once more, adjusting to it as she was about to try to get her husband to adjust to another shocking idea, "Sweetheart, about that…I think you've been over-looking the way _Charlie_ looks at Willy."

"Ha-how does Charlie look at Willy?" He flinched.

"The way I look at you." She answered simply.

If chocolate could be transformed into a pair of eyes, they might look like Mrs. Bucket's lingering set; sweet, glossy, invitingly warm, blended with tantalizing desire and guaranteed to alleviate woe. Emotionally and physically the engineer felt himself drifting through space, walls and boundaries becoming invisible like the vehicle he rode. The Lickable Zippers facilty came into view, located right next to the Ummph Room.

"That's not possible. He's only a child!" Desperation -- more saying it to himself than she.

"An exceptional child, far beyond his years, uh, but…he's _physically_ growing too." She glanced down and revealed, "I found a stiff stain while fixing his bed sheets this morning."

Bizarre sounding moans and elongated grunts echoed from the nearby facilities. The sounds of thousands of zippers coming done and undone at various speeds wasn't of any comfort to frayed nerves either. A slight flush rose to the chief engineer's face, when the implication that his son was experiencing one of the normal developments of puberty, hit him. What could sweet, little Charlie have been dreaming about that would arouse him into that?! "I-I'm sure it-it's nothing more than…hero worship."

"No, it's much more. It's in his words and thoughts constantly. He doesn't blindly worship Mr. Wonka. He sees the flaws more clearly than any of us. There's a _connection_. Charlie is special and Willy needs…a special someone." The woman stated as gently as possible.

A sudden surge of memories; the fancy pancake breakfast, the clingy outfits, the boy sucking on his incredible gobstopper, the frequent hugs and that urgent pitch his voice would acquire around the candyman. Was his wife right? Was his _son_ the one encouraging such an unnatural relationship?! Who was guilty and who was innocent now?!

A swirl of color dazzled their features and transformed every previous hue as they slid into the Rainbow Room.

"Why do you think Willy is willing to sacrifice his entire life's work for him? Do you think it's because he's such a good person?" Her lips had shifted through every color of the spectrum as the notions were posed. Nothing was the right color anymore, least of all the man's fitted white jumpsuit, which absorbed whatever was projected onto it.

Mr. Bucket analyzed his thoughts. "Good person" was definitely not a phrase he'd use to describe the chocolatier, even if he was no longer convinced that the man was pure evil.

His wife's voice answered the question for him.

"It's love."

He caught his breath at the word, but she steadied him, gripping tenderly. "Love can be…complicated, but it's also very simple. _However_ you want to define it -- they feel the same way about one another."

But how far had things gone?! His memory replayed Wonka's arm slowly wrapping around the boy as he'd stared into those eyes, those possessive eyes that pulled one in... The thoughts were too much! Something went into overload, clicking as it had before inside his brain. Arms robotically released the embrace. His eyes went blank and black again as he responded, "We'll make it through this. We have to save Charlie."

Every trace of stained glass lighting had faded into a far darker spectrum as the Great Glass Elevator climbed ever upward. Deafening sounds of construction were on the horizon along with beams of light so bright that they bleached the world of pigmentation, reducing it to lines of black and white.

His wife looked at him curiously. But before she could voice any further thoughts or obtain clarification, the elevator had chimed to indicate that it reached its destination at the Reverse Engineering Room. Mr. Bucket stepped off the Great Glass Elevator. He turned back to face her, pose rigid and repeated in monotone, "We have to save Charlie."

Faster than a person could blink, the elevator whisked away, taking the lone woman along with it.

_**ding!**_

_Tickity-tackity-tap-tap-tap!_

_Clickety-clackity-rap-rap-rap!_

_Tickity-tackity-tap-tap-tap!_

_**ding!**_

_Tickity-tackity-tap-tap-tap!_

_Clickety-clack-rap-rap-rap!_

_Tickity-tackity-tap-tap-tap!_

Official signage read: Data Flossing Room.

The group walked through a circular entrance area with ten secretaries to one side and ten to the other. They typed in a loud unison of rhythm, pulling out finished documents, then immediately picking up a crisp sheet of watermarked letterhead, rolling it into the machine and beginning the assembly line pace anew. Wonka and his heir were shoved along as the women in polka dot dresses, white horn-rimmed glasses, and pink kerchiefs neatly tied around their throats, dutifully patted out long streams of facts, figures and numbers, everything piped through the sculpted headphones that each was wearing. Their headphones were connected to computers recessed into the wall behind, a pair of wheels spinning tape inside each electronic device, as a track of brightly colored LED's lit up back and forth in rows. The workers appeared too engrossed in their work to look up.

"This is state-of-the-art." Said Mr. Prodnose impressed and with self-assurance.

"Maybe to you clueless cheapskates, but technically this technology is terribly out-of-date. However I believe in…recycling. Not tah mention, if it was good enough for the military, then it'll be well suited for the never-ending march of candy-making." A broad smile, ever the salesman and Cheshire cat, full of answers that were full of questions.

No one could make sense of why the word 'recycling' should have a dark connotation, but it did coming out of the chocolatier's mouth.

"The military lets you use their old equipment?" Asked Fickelgruber Jr. incredulously.

"Err, bler, if they didn't want me to then they really shoulda discarded it someplace more private than at the bottom of an ocean." Wonka replied distracted, glaring at the head of the invasion that was still wearing one of his beloved top hats upon a blotchy and nearly hairless scalp. He made a disgusted frown.

"And you call us _bottom-feeders_. Keep those insults to a minimum…**wheeze**…or things precious to you may yet still….find themselves at the bottom of oceans." Slugworth snapped back with a gargled chuckle.

A final female worker was graciously holding open a door shaped like a giant chocolate bar. She and Willy gave each other a very serious look as the pack of people entered a private office area. Charlie went from confused about the condition of his grandfather to seriously concerned, while he took in the surroundings along with everyone else.

Inside was dim except for the electric light of many televisions, they flashed through channels and various views of the factory. Heavy smoke hung in the air creating a dense fog. A wide desk created a boundary and distance; piles of papers and magazines from around the world added more of a blockade. A pile of freshly flaked, grey soot sat within a rock candy ashtray, perched at the very top of a mountain of paperwork. The sound of big band music crackling off a Victrola could barely be discerned in the background. Around the room, digital tape showed the healthy sales figures of Wonka's various investments and enterprises. Raspberry Kites were doing especially well.

Willy cleared his throat and stated with a nervous flicker in his voice, "Serious work this. I detest droll tedium as much as flossing itself – facts, figures, politics, bluh. Rather be inventin' stuff! But he keeps at it even with a severe case of _laryngitis_. Uh…ain't that right, Georgie boy?"

A large black leather chair swiveled to face the group. Sitting there was a figure wearing a worn hooded robe with one of Grandma Georgina's bulky knitted shawls across the shoulders. Haltingly it rose, staggering from left and right. From under the hood, no face could be discerned, only a glimmer of orange heat and more swirling smoke from a cigar. It was as if the grim reaper himself stood before them.

Charlie felt his shoulders gripped by Prodnose again. None of the other men made an effort to shake hands either. A carved wooden box filled with fatly rolled cigars was roughly pushed forward; each had a paper band marked with Wonka's logo. Symbols and pictures on the box were done in the Oompa-loompas traditional style.

"Ugh, no thanks." Ficklegruber Jr. coughed and uselessly tried to fan away the fumes, "Maybe if gramps there laid off the smokes, he'd still have a voice to work with. Be glad for once you got that oxygen tank, Sluggo."

The bodyguard M, however, leaned forward and placed one into an upper pocket of his sleeveless denim jacket.

Mr. Prodnose suddenly jutted a hand at one of the televisions. "I say! Is that the rocket ship the papers say you've been working on?!"

"Satellite actually, and yes, it is." Wonka's pitch took on the melody of pride. His lashes flicked downwards, recalling the hug it had once won him too.

Every face looked up to inspect the impressive images of gleaming machinery filling the behemoth-sized loft. While they were distracted, Willy used his foot to surreptitiously step onto Charlie's. Catching the boy's attention, he motioned with jaw and eyes toward the looming, thin figure behind the desk. The middle of the robe parted to reveal the young members of the boy's personal Oompa-Loompa team sitting on the shoulder's of each other – all four were making up the body of Grandpa George: Spring, Summer, Winter and Autumn! They swayed slightly with the tremendous effort, clearing up why the figure moved so awkwardly. A molded human hand on a stick (what had been used to shift the cigar box) waved at their leaders. Their trickling of elfish giggles followed.

The invading candymen and bodyguard looked back toward their prisoners. Wonka faked a coughing fit in order to mask the direction of strange sound. The others stared at him suspiciously as he played wide-eyed confusion. Amateurs, he thought.

Charlie had still been investigating the figure, wondering what was going on with this charade, when on the television behind them, the sight of a man swinging Tarzan-like across elevator ropes replaced the previous sci-fi images. Factory cameras zoomed in on the sharp, thin face of the real George Bucket. His grandchild couldn't help but gasp, his relative most certainly wasn't ill in the slightest!

Everyone's faces went back to the screen to see what had startled the boy, but by some token of chance, it had switched to his mother busily working and cooking within her area of expertise. Fickelgruber's eyebrow shot up and he smirked, "That's yer pretty Mommy, right? Miss her too, I bet. Let's go see lady Bucket next."

"I agree." Stated Slugworth. He pointed his crooked finger at the looming shadow behind the desk, "And just to…clear the smoke, as it were…you and your family work for us now…understand?"

"Listen to us and no one gets hurt." Added Mr. Prodnose.

The robed head carefully nodded up and down, hands up in the fashion of surrender.

"Wonkavite." The boy said to himself in awe, finally figuring out the puzzle of the situation.

"Wot was that?" Slugworth glared at him, decrepit but ever sharp.

"N-nothing. The boy was merely saying a nickname he's given me." Willy smiled, forcing an insincere giggle.

"You two are NOT to talk to one another!" Managed the man in the wheelchair with one angry, adamant breath, an accent of spittle marking his emotion. His squinted eyes darted between them.

"Gee kid, shouldn't ya should call him Sugar Daddy? And…" Fickelgruber examined Wonka with lewd suspicion, "Guess _jail bate_ would suit the one he wants to 'discover endless new things of which to be mutual lovers' with."

All the invading kidnappers laughed.

Flushing cheeks came in response to the blonde-haired candyman quoting from a letter that had been meant for his heir's eyes only. Another piece of Wonka's dignity was swiped at, another part of his person violated. A bead of sweat trailed down Charlie's face, he was suddenly very grateful that the relation behind the desk was only a proxy of his family member.

Violet eyes bulged in sheer madness, then grew oddly distant and blackened around the edges, "Bow down before the one you serve, you're going to get what you deserve."

Everyone in the room grew quiet trying to piece out the meaning of what had been stated or how it related to anything. M's deep voice, penetrated the silence from behind his captive, "And who or what do you serve?"

With a glance over padded shoulder, the candyman stated simply, "Myself."

Psssst! _….hssst…._

Psssst! _….hssst…._

"Then I'm sure…a very fitting end…awaits you as well."

**XXXXXXX**

**XXXXXXX**

There was no longer a hidden smile on the square lines of the famous man's face as the jalopy sped toward its new goal.

Fickelgruber Jr. had been making note of a certain pattern in the placard on rooms they'd passed: Cinnamon Farts, Love Farts, Blueberry Ear Wax, Snottermellon, Phlegm Brulee, Belching Bon Bons. He lifted his lip in digust, "Why do you have so much junk named after bodily functions?"

The candy wiz leaned forward, looking directly into the younger man's anxious eyes, as if he were about to reveal some great secret. Everyone listened. Mr. Wonka stage whispered, "Cuz…it's _funny_."

He slumped back into his seat, looking out the car window with the complete disinterest of a disgruntled teenager. "Duh."

His captors looked equally unenthused at him.

"Really, it's hilarious if ya think about it. The human body is nothing but a series of tubes in a constant state of trying to leak. The fact that we're ever in a sweet smelling state of grace is as amazing as it is unnatural." A sniff might've suggested that the men had not managed to achieve said grace, but Charlie caught the true reason – a droplet of pooled water, glinting at the corner of an eye, fighting not to "leak". And he knew that Mr. Wonka's childish ability to live in a state of denial was beginning to wear thin.

Perhaps though, seeing a collection of them cheering him on would help. An alternate entrance, from the one usually reached by method of boat, to the Children Only Room had already been opened. Crowds of smaller than usual Oompa-Loompas were gathered about, oddly silent and fixated on the newcomers.

"They look like voo-doo dolls." Said Fickelgruber, as the platform lowered. He recalled his flippant remark made about such a thing back at Slugworth's basement.

Mr. Prodnose asked, "Er, um, so how many of these Lumpa-Oopers do you have exactly?"

Wonka's eyes rolled up and sideways as if he were actually counting the multitude inside his head. "One million, four hundred sixty three thousand and eight. No, wait…"

He got terribly distant. "…I…I lost one. I think."

"A _million_, there's over one million of these things?!" Responded Young Mister Fickelgruber.

"They are not 'things', they're people!" Mr. Wonka sternly corrected. "One million is nothing, they're over six _billion_ people on the face of the Earth. Besides Oompa-Loompas are much more compact, twice as hard-working and completely trustworthy unlike the usual variety of human beings."

"But-but how will we feed them all?!" The man in overalls looked rather concerned as the clusters drew closer.

Willy's pussycat smile returned as the platform securely reached the floor, "Oh, they'll eat pretty much…anything."

There was an audible crunch sound. Mr. Prodnose screamed out from his ankle being bitten. "_OWCH!_"

Tiny growls, hisses and a swarming attack followed. Ambitious ones began to climb the wheelchair, pulled out the tubes of the air tank. Slugworth's gasping sounds became desperate. Charlie's initial comparison of the children to Gulliver's Travels were being blurred by ones closer to The Lord of The Flies. But neither he nor Mr. Wonka was subject to any attack.

One who had successfully climbed up M's muscular structure, smiled, revealing a perfect row of needle sharp, shark-shaped teeth to the cuffed duo. Willy smiled similarly back. It then promptly bit into the tattooed forearm.

"AaaahhHH!" The bodyguard ripped off the tiny attacker. King Kong style he gripped it in front of his face and began to squeeze.

"Stop! NO!" Charlie pleaded, "They're only children!"

M didn't cease in the slightest. Although the small creature looked perturbed, face swelling and reddish, it would not crush under his grip. Oompa-Loompas were made of stern stuff, therefore the creatures of the native lands that hunted them, had to be sterner still. It was one reason why they volunteered for Wonka's experiments with so little concern.

Slugworth's hired hand looked confused and frustrated. More were already climbing up.

"I told you they had to be broken in." The chocolatier said matter-of-a-factly. "Plus there's the filing and fixing of their teeth before they enter official positions. That's done in the Tooth Benders room, adjacently located next to the Dental Records office."

"MAKE THEM STOP ALREADY YOU CRAZY OLD FOOL!!" Fickelgruber shouted at the top of his lungs. They'd managed to get him pinned to the ground with licorice ropes. Two were happily fraying the edges of his bow tie.

"I'd love to, but I'm afraid my hands are rather uh, _tied_ and you've got my cane filled with their favorite goodies." He replied, staring downward at the man. "Better give it to them before they draw blood or they'll never calm down."

It was impossible to tell if he was joking or not, but due to the situation, no one was going to take any chances either! Every one of the men tackled each other for the cane until the top was clumsily popped off. Sprinkle candy (currently dubbed "Nerds" on the market) burst out everywhere! To their amazement, this did indeed distract the Oompa-Loompa children, immediately they stopped and sniffed the air. No more than seconds later, they were playfully treating the scattered candy like an Easter egg hunt; satisfied squeaks replacing feral sounds as they crunched on found rewards.

"Fortunately, when given a choice between flesh or sugar, they prefer sugar." Wonka examined one worker-in-training, still angrily hanging off the end of M's finger by its mouth and growling like a kitten.

"Gggrrr…"

"Heh, heh. Usually." The candyman gave a trademark giggle at the sight.

"Oh my goodness! I'm so very sorry!!" Mrs. Bucket came dashing toward them. Her long Victorian skirt swooping around her body, corseted bosom bouncing. She added a few hasty hand gestures along with a pronounced snoring sound. Her Loompish wasn't as good as Charlie's but being around the elders teaching it, led to a knowledge of basic phrases. "Children, you're supposed to be in bed! You know that."

Harmless as puppies again, the children clustered together and reluctantly began heading away. Some tried to hide under Mrs. Bucket's wide skirt, but she lifted it up; vine pattern stockings and heeled shoes with strawberry-shaped toes were revealed. She looked down at the attempting stranglers and tisked. A tinkling of giggles was their reaction. They surrendered, giving her ankles an affectionate squeeze goodnight then going back to a communal bedroom. The last child turned around and stuck his tongue out at the visiting crowd with a final loud, unpleasant utterance.

Willy stifled a chuckle -- his sentiments exactly.

"Really I do apologize, word got out, as it um, often does among the Loompas, and the little ones got so…ah, excited." That was truthful enough. In fact though, they had become rather upset at the news. Children, unlike adults, normally wore their emotions on the surface. The Oompa-Loompa people had an undying loyalty to both the man who ran the factory and her son.

Regardless, this volatile situation called for the utmost in diplomacy. Mrs. Bucket rushed to assist the candyman on the floor, giving him a hand up as he stared back enraptured. "The children are high spirited and prone to rough-housing but they're actually quite lovable once they get used to you."

Prodnose put Slugworth's breathing apparatus back in order while the crippled man closed his eyes and took deep, badly needed breaths. Charlie noticed the grime under Prodnose's thick fingernails and many scars over his stubby hands, half of one pinky finger and the tip of the index were gone, presumably caused by a long life of working with factory equipment (and not wearing gloves). The boy thought about doing something with his assigned bodyguard busy, but when he turned to his left, M's depraved focus put the idea straight out of his head. Instead the boy looked at his mother, her expression indicated that she was going to burst from not being able to wrap her arms around him. Still she smiled like sunshine and he smiled back.

The eldest candymaker opened his eyes again. He saw the exchange between mother and child. "You can thank Wonka…for this…_mess_, my dear. We've come for…**gasp** our just desserts."

"I understand and only want to cooperate." She bowed her head and spoke graciously, as a servant might to a master. In her heart she was fearful, fighting through it. Her nature and upbringing was to always extend kindness, but meeting the dreaded "copycat parasitic candymaking cads" in person, there was an obvious eerie feeling. The dishonesty in Mr. Slugworth's statement alone spoke reams about their twisted mental states. But for the sake of her son and his beloved friend, she'd quickly concocted a small plan to hopefully delay departure, keeping them in her view and buying the rest of the family time. Cautiously she added, "Um, ah, if you'd like, I prepared a sort of late night snack."

"That'd be nice. I'm famished!" Mr. Prodnose said (although he didn't look so).

The other men from their party nodded in agreement. Slugworth agreed under the term that Willy hadn't prepared any of the food himself. A long, angry look accompanied the statement.

They followed her down a hallway with cathedral ceilings, passed the observational areas with various occupational training set-ups. Along the walls of the children's sanctuary and learning area, pictures decorated the walls: loving portraits of cocoa beans, Wonka, the Bucket family and the factory itself. Exactly as regular human children would create and proof that they weren't always gremlins.

Toward the back an appealing garden or recess area opened up, the entire area was actually shaped like a giant keyhole when viewed from above. Passing under an archway into the courtyard was a table set for high tea. It lay under a gazebo complete with a linen tablecloth and doilies (W's and C's woven into the pattern). The fanciful china was the very same Wonka had previously left as a gift for the family. He smiled upon the sight, but smiled far more broadly to see that the bronze statue of Charlie had been completed in delightful, idealized likeness. His own statuesque form had been modified so that one hand now rested on the boy's shoulder -- another symbol of their permanent union. Ivy crawled up the wall, tuber roses and lemon blossoms scented the air, lupine and lavender grew near the feet. A garden of decorative representational harvest to the scholarly, merely pretty, to the ignorant.

Every head looked up at the monument.

Psssst! _….hssst…._

Psssst! _….hssst…._

"Perhaps…one day…**cough** this will instead stand...as a memorial."

Willy's smile wilted. He considered Mr. Slugworth's remark. Charlie caught the man's attention, shaking his head with adamant, "no". But the chocolatier didn't look as certain.

Fickelgruber Jr., oblivious to the private exchange, burst out with, "_Geesh_, what a narcissist! You weren't foolin' when you said you worshipped yourself. Can't imagine why, especially with charming Lady Bucket around, thought you Pagan guys worshipped _women_."

Wonka crooked up his brow, "How do you know about that?"

"We know scads and scads. We've had nuthin' but time to find out." Mr. Prodnose stated with a discomforting, placid grin. "Nuthin' but motivation to watch your every…delicate move."

Mr. Wonka avoided his gaze, shifting uncomfortably again. "I wouldn't start a war of cloak-and-dagger with me, if I was you."

"M!" Slugworth shouted and the brute ceased his mesmerized stare at the statues, ungracefully shoving his prisoner under the gazebo, then down into a chair. Mr. Wonka grunted in disapproval. The bodyguard paid not the slightest mind, squeezing down his bulky form into the rattan chair next to him.

As the others found their seats, Mr. Wonka quipped, "Listen, I feel a little weird callin' someone a consonant. Got a real name? Ya don't look like a Marvin or a Melvin. Could it be…Morris? Maxwell? Marion?"

"It's short for _Master_." He stared directly at Charlie, hungry for something other than biscuits or cake. "You may both come to call me that in due time."

Mrs. Bucket closed her eyes, silently saying a prayer. She did not even want to fully understand what had been implied. What she did understand was that Grandpa Joe and Grandpa George had not exaggerated in the slightest about their observations.

Turning to pour tea into the next man's cup, as she'd been doing for each, the woman was met with another surprise. Mr. Prodnose had placed his cone-shaped napkin upon his head giving the effect of a clown or dunce hat. He gave a goofy grin.

Annoyed frowns from the other invaders wordlessly convinced him to pull it off and put it properly into his lap, replacing the engineer's cap onto his head.

Charlie looked about at everyone, lingering comments drifting through his brain; this could so easily be a _civil_ gathering, why did it instead have to be a horrific one? He let out a frustrated breath and voiced the thought, "I don't understand, if everyone here likes candy, why can't we simply work together? In harmony?"

Out of the mouth of babes, thought Wonka. Somehow that delicate British voice always spoke directly to the basin inside his own soul. Remarkable. Inexplicable. Irreplaceable. Gently the man responded, "Once upon a time…

"LIES!"

Psssst! _….hssst…._

Psssst! _….hssst…._

Psssst! _….hssst…._

Psssst! _….hssst…._

"You're filled with them!! PRINCE of them, I dare say!!" Slugworth had cut Wonka off, followed by a phlegmy cough. He was impassioned with rage, veins bulging near the thin skin of his temples. The decrepit man began the sentence again, "ONCE upon a time…there were three happy candymakers…in **wheeze** one small town until…an unneeded _fourth_ arrived."

"Directly across the street from us." Added Prodnose. "I remember the day he popped up without so much as a how'd ya do."

"I was shy." Willy averted his eyes.

"Yeah right, in those outrageous outfits?" Fickelgruber Jr. quipped. "You could land planes by them."

"They were the latest fashions from Paris and Italy where I'd been trainin'. Not that you uncultured slobs would know." Coquettish aversion returned to stubborn tenacity. For in fact, the chocolatier had very fond memories of gleefully collecting various garments that he was certain would've immediately offended his overly conservative father. At the same time, he felt the clothes also made him appear mature, cultured and successful.

He recalled most specifically looking into a mirror in Europe and not recognizing at all that awkward, timid boy in the monstrous braces. In that moment, he had been reborn.

Fickelgruber Junior's abrasive voice broke his trance. "See, you ain't shy, Wonkit. You're obnoxious and a snob. My father told me how you came into his store, quiet as a dormouse, snooping regularly. Ya never bought a thing."

Willy shot back, "That's because he never changed a fiddling thing except the packaging. If you had one lackluster caramel or nut chew, you'd had 'em all -- outer flair without inner substance."

"Those are traditional _family_ recipes! You don't meddle with that." A neatly manicured hand was slammed onto the table; one that probably hadn't felt a hard day's work in its life.

"Is that so? Well, ya didn't seem to have a problem adding Never-Melting Ice Cream to your shelves, but it seems creating cheap knockoffs is also part of yer family's traditions!" He pursed his lips and deliberately eyed up and down, the younger man with the badly capped teeth, overly stylized hair, plaid vest and equally flashy wardrobe.

There was a second of tense staring. Young Mr. Fickelgruber could have been described as handsome in a traditional sense, due to a lot of cosmetic enhancement, but he still lacked any of the inherit beauty or mystery of his competitor. He huffed and broke the silence with, "Hey M, I bet all this talking is making Chilly Willy awful thirsty, why don't ya help him out there?"

Willy sneered at the notion, leaning away from the muscle man next to him. "I'm fine, thank you."

"Aw, come now. Be a _good boy_ and take a sip." A meaty hand held up the dainty cup while the other stroked his silky bobbed hair condescendingly, like he was a doll (which in comparison to the bodyguard he did appear).

The candymaker took great exception to this. He screeched, "Don't touch me like that!!"

All the other candymakers laughed at some unknown joke.

"It really is exactly like old times…isn't it?" What was left of Slugworth's grey teeth were exposed in a pitted smile.

Psssst! _….hssst…._

Psssst! _….hssst…._

Psssst! _….hssst…._

Psssst! _….hssst…._

"Go 'head. Tell the story again, Prodnose." Fickelgruber's request was laced with a tone of threat. "I think too much fun has been had our expense. Time to even the score."

Charlie immediately looked to his beloved friend, but the man had physically as well as mentally retreated. He and his mother had to admit a certain level of curiosity about the matter, remaining silent too.

Old Mr. Prodnose smiled broadly, his puffy face lit up like one of the Bucket grandparents before they were to relive a moment of their past. "You have to envision it, some twenty years ago when ALL our stores were open and business was bustling!"

In his mind, the boy did just that. It appeared that everyone else at the table was traveling through a mental time trip too.

The image of Cherry Street in times gone by became tangible, a locomotive pounding down memory lane…

**Author's Notes****:**

**Thank you for all the feedback and friendship these years long, it is those simple things, which mean so much, and are the best reward I could hope for my efforts. They are such pleasant surprises that pop up in my day every so often; you give me cause not to give up.**

**I found images of a **_**dead ringer**_** for "M", my OC from ****Cravings**** and ****Is It Scary**** (in case you're curious); a wrestler goes by Kane Massaro. He's so ugly, he's beautiful -- I luv it. To see the images, paste into your browser and replace "dot" and "slash" with the correct symbols. I have to do it like this due to FanFiction's restrictions:**

**i13.(slash)albums(slash)a300(slash)idolhands(slash)KaneAnger(dot)jpg**

**i13.photobucket(dot)com(slash)albums(slash)a300(slash)idolhands(slash)kane(dot)jpg**

**i13.(slash)albums(slash)a300(slash)idolhands(slash)kane-interview-20060504102615524-00(dot)jpg**

**In the process of updating this fic, I ended up going over my old work and spotting obvious typos. I do apologize. I was often pulling all-nighters and am an amateur but I will endeavor to continue improving. **

"_**And who gave you the right to scare my family?"**_** Is a quote from Michael Jackson's song ****Ghosts****.**

**Along those lines, the use of handcuffs in these chapters isn't mere prop. It is another reference to The King of Pop, who was also forced to wear them. **

**If you watch Burton's film when the other three candymen are shown, you'll see my inspiration for the appearance of the characters. Burton's dedication to subtle aspects of this nature, keep me fascinated and show the level of thought that went into its production. **

**A friend on my f-list uploaded a "Tom of Finland" piece of art, which highly amused me, because the man on the right looks EXACTLY how I imagined Fickelgruber Jr. looking. Ha!**

**i13(dot)photobucket(dot)com(slash)albums(slash)a300(slash)idolhands(slash)TomofFinland-Fickelgruber(dot)jpg**

_**Willy felt like a symphony of perfectly tuned instruments had begun to play.**_** A barely there reference to ****August Rush****. How could I resist?**

**The jalopy is inspired by the first film adaptation, car separate from the Wonkawash (Shawaknow) pipe device used in the bathroom sequence. **

"**Wheels On The Bus" is a real song frequently sung in childhood and I used choruses from it.**

**The original book mentions a second elevator and I borrowed lines from the scene.**

**Image of older computers referenced:**

**i13(dot)photobucket(dot)com(slash)albums(slash)a300(slash)idolhands(slash)OldComputers(dot)jpg**

**The scene in Grandpa George's office is in homage to "Mickey's A Christmas Carol" where Death makes his appearance. I always liked that bit.**

"_**Bow down before the one you serve, you're going to get what you deserve."**_** - A line from Nine Inch Nail's song, ****Head Like A Hole****.**

**All rooms referenced in the tale are truly from the inside of the Great Glass Elevator design used in Burton's film. **

**Mrs. Bucket mentions the result of Charlie's dream where he was a sugar sheep, in case you don't recall.**

**I do believe I subconsciously absorbed the "soot sprites" from ****The Spirit of Wonder**** for parts of the Oompa-loompa children. **

**Flower symbolism: www(dot)weddingbokay(dot)com(slash)symbolism(dot)html**

**Slugworth is simply full of comic book puns, ain't he? I was also thinking that he reminds me of Mr. Burns from ****The Simpsons**** cartoon. LOL!**

**The tea party is consistent with an undercurrent of ****Alice in Wonderland****. Would you like to make spiffy napkins too? I got the idea for the clown-hat fold from here: groups(dot)msn(dot)com(slash)paganhearthrecipes(slash)napkinfolds(dot)msnw **

"**The Prince of Lies" is a common nickname for The Devil.**

**Chilly Willy: i30(dot)photobucket(dot)com(slash)albums(slash)c304(slash)pinkkitten(slash)Cartoons(slash)ChillyWilly(dot)jpg**


	23. Volume 22 Part II

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**Title:** Is It Scary, XXII - PART II

**By:** IDOL HANDS

**Rating:** R

**Warnings:** Dark & Mature Themes. Violence (some gore), n/c, Sexual situations, Slash, Angst, Hostage, Paganism and an under-aged/adult (shota/chan) relationship.

**Disclaimer:** The characters portrayed are not my property but that of the estate of Roald Dahl, Tim Burton, Freddie Highmore, Deep Roy, and Johnny Depp.

**Tunes:** Chicago Harmonica Blues (mp3):

www(dot)megaupload(dot)com(slash)?dSKLGHDDE

**Beta Thanks:** maramatsg & petpetangel.

**IMAGE:** Young Willy Wonka

i13(dot)photobucket(dot)com(slash)albums(slash)a300(slash)idolhands(slash)YoungWillyWonka(dot)jpg

**Summary:** Continuation from Volume 22; Tales of Mr. Wonka as a young man, a periodic table within the space and span of time. They say we are the sum of our parts but some sums remain paradoxes. Presenting an equation where one unknown element plus three charted chemicals resulted in a solution too unstable to last, three divided against one, reacting radioactively in a cataclysmic chain, leaving zero further undefined.

**Tip****:** making your window narrow like a book page can help with reading longer texts.

**"double, double, toil and trouble"**

It's a pleasant Sunday afternoon; men, women and children are mingling about, most still dressed in their better church clothes; everyone relaxed with ceremonies over. The air is crisp, but not the harsh chill of later decades.

From the largest store on the corner, a slender young man in a velvet jacket slips out, attempting to look nonchalant among the crowd. No one has seen him attend any kind of mass, although his creations _have_ been known to cause exclamations of enlightenment! A gloved hand holds down a matching crimson top hat as he decides to rush, in a moment managing to weave through people while crossing the modest main street of town. Locating a favorite spot, he crouches down among the children, joining them to fixate on the contents of an extravagant display window.

Inside the store is a middle-aged man with a slight paunch, his wife shouting at him from the back room while he shovels out perfectly molded licorice wagon wheels and functional candy whistles to cloistering customers. It's a gesture done hundreds of times within a day until he feels like an assembly line robot. The lone, brightly colored stranger crouching under the reversed "Prodnose" logo catches his eye. He knows it's the new candyman, the one his friends have been gossiping about.

The shop's owner continued on to his next customer, fulfilling a request for an "Engine Fuel" soda -- sugar water dyed cerulean with a kick of extra bicarbonate. His attention is still on the new candyman, who has visited the shop window everyday to watch the toy trains. Today they trigger lights and a couple of automated animals as they run along their electric path. Mr. Prodnose set it up special the night before. This addition to the display successfully causes the handsome young man to beam, exposing the brightest and most perfect smile the older candymaker had ever seen; warm as Christmas morning.

"Watch wot you're doing!!"

Mr. Prodnose realized he'd over-poured the soda while distracted. "Dear me…"

His wife came out with a sour face and a mop, using both to push him away from the back counter. He mused weakly, "Maybe it is time for a break."

Eagerly waddling outside, he decided to sidle up to the new guy. Wiping his hand on stained dungarees and outstretching it with an informal introduction, "'ello, I'm Prodnose, you must be Wonka."

There was an apprehensive glance at the sticky palm before unceremoniously and gleefully bursting out with, "Know what'd be neat? If ya had 'em choo-choo across the WHOLE place! They could even deliver candies directly tah customers! I wish they could puff smoke and sound a steam trumpet like the big ones!"

His eyes were wide as saucers; pale sunlight of day lit them up allowing Mr. Prodnose to notice they were also a shade of purple that matched the embroidered floral vest exactly -- he'd never seen that feature on a person before either. What an extraordinary individual the young man appeared to be.

Wonka shouted, "I THINK I CAN, I THINK I CAN! WHOO, WHOO!"

The shopkeeper was dumbfounded by the remark, but had to chortle at his enthusiasm. Willy panicked; misinterpreting the laughter and suddenly dashing away back to his own shop, boot heels clicking loudly against cement like a pony's hooves. He entered through a backdoor with a jangle of keys kept on a brass ring, dropping them in his nervousness then getting his coat tails getting caught in the jab; clumsy antics causing more laughter from others watching. Mr. Fickelgruber had been outside selling frozen treats and saw the entire exchange. He looked at his neighbor with a coo-coo whistle while making a screwball motion at the side of his head. Prodnose shrugged back, it wasn't a bad idea he thought, before his wife yanked him back indoors. Under his breath, the former conductor repeated, "I think I can, I think I can…"

And about a week later, he _did_.

The Choo-Choo Chocolade Express was a huge success with customers, who'd order sweets for the delight of watching them be delivered by toy trains! Wonka hadn't returned to Prodnose's store again, so there had been no way to offer gratitude. This prompted the older man to take some initiative…

Every evening, for hours after all the employees had left, a light could still be seen coming from the back of Willy Wonka's shop, along with the shadow of a figure wearing a top hat lurking about. It also wasn't uncommon to hear sounds resembling explosions or catch a whiff of brimstone. Heavens only knew what the man was up to or if he ever slept, they'd say, but certainly the chocolatier's astounding dedication to his craft left little room for dating or socializing.

Mr. Prodnose rang the bell and rapped on the door, but no response came. He'd suspected that might happen. Unbuttoning a wide pocket on his jumpsuit, an envelope was removed, then squatting down with a grunt; he slipped it into the flawlessly polished letter flap. Doing so caused a melody to jingle out like opening a wind-up jewelry box:

_**Willy Wonka, Willy Wonka!**_

_**The amazing chocolatier!**_

_**Willy Wonka, Willy Wonka!**_

_**Everybody give a cheer!**_

With a chuckle, the man mused at both the cleverness and folderol of the presentation. It was true that this new competitor in town was young, but Mr. Prodnose suspected that he was even younger at heart. Waltzing back into the night, whistling Wonka's jingle to himself, he did not see the cat-like movements of a shadow that immediately scooped up the note. Nor, therefore, could he make out the inexplicable splatters of orange and green dye, all over its body, which had made the shadow's possessor unwilling to answer the door.

That following evening, Mr. Prodnose, Mr. Fickelgruber, and Mr. Slugworth were sitting in their regular booth at the local tavern to unwind and talk shop. The subject tonight was one that had been dominating their conversations lately. Their shouts could be made out over the general chatter of patrons.

"He's got all the dames in a fuss too! Hausfraus are a core part of my business, ya know! I've spent a fortune keepin' up with that attention-stealing wardrobe!!" Fickelgruber stood up to demonstrate his point, turning around in order to display a freshly tailored, boldly patterned suit. He was the spitting image of Fickelgruber junior, an attractive man with a cleft chin and naturally sandy blonde hair. "Gotta make sure my _packages_ are equally up to snuff and I ain't talking about candy, if ya catch my drift. Have ya noticed how tight he wears those trousers?"

The confectioner sat back down in a huff. "My _wife_ certainly did."

"Never mind that. Have you tasted his candy bars?! Positively sinful the amount of cocoa butter and cream he uses; makes our stuff taste like cardboard." Slugworth piped up, leaning near the table to add, "Wot's more, he constantly has bizarre things shipped in. One day a dozen boxes came from Tahiti, another a whole crate from Peru and today the mailman had a special delivery post from the Queen Mum!!"

"She wanted to know if I'd consider making dog treats." Said a fluty voice.

The worn floorboards had not creaked in the usual manner to indicate any approach. Startled, Mr. Fickelgruber and Mr. Slugworth gaped at the brightly smiling person who'd suddenly appeared standing before their table. Conversely, Mr. Prodnose stood up and gestured Mr. Wonka to slide in, "Er, uhm, I-I invited him. Dab hand did me a good turn with that train idea. Figured the least I could do was offer to buy 'im a drink."

"Boy was business hopping today! I sure could go for a chocolate malt -- double chocolate sauce, three cherries, but hold the whipped cream." The last part of his giddy remark was whispered while patting his flat stomach, "Watchin' my weight."

"Yeah? So's Prodnose. Watching it _accumulate_ that is." Mr. Fickelgruber smirked; their business partner deserved at least one jab for this rather unpleasant surprise. "But uh, they ain't got no chocolate malts here, kiddo."

"Oh." Wonka paused. Then lit up again with, "How 'bout strawberry? Banana's nice too!"

"I'm afraid not." Responded Prodnose; restraining his chuckle, remembering the effect one had from their last encounter.

The smell of sizzling meat and deep-fried food wafted through the air along with the tangy odor of spirits. A buxom waitress arrived, looking expectantly at them for an order.

"We'll all take another round of lager with an order of fish and chips. Wee Willy Wonka here'll have a glass of your finest milk. Can ya do that, sweetheart?" Said Fickelgruber with a wink.

She looked to the new patron for assurance that this was indeed the order.

"With three cherries!" And a gleaming smile indicated that it was.

The others snickered as she waltzed away. Slugworth glanced at him, "Like popping cherries, do you?"

"Doesn't everyone?" Willy said, confused.

"Well it so happens that our waitress is _named_ Cherry and for the right price she _pops_ anyone."

A horrified look sprouted on Wonka's face while the other men laughed. A moment later, sounds of a humble live singer accompanied by a piano began from a modest stage, softening the mood slightly.

_**Des yeux qui font baiser les miens,**_

_**Un rire qui se perd sur sa bouche,**_

_**Voila le portrait sans retouche**_

_**De l'homme auquel j'appartiens**_

_**Quand il me prend dans ses bras**_

_**Il me parle tout bas,**_

_**Je vois la vie en rose…**_

Fickelgruber, seated across, lit a cigarette with a gold lighter and squinted at him while taking a long drag. "There's something real familiar about you, kiddo. What part of the states do you hail from?"

"I've done a lot of traveling, but I'm British born. From this very town actually, that's kinda why I wanted to open my first shop here. He, he, he." Teeth flashing once again in flawless alignment while he nervously fidgeted; shoulders stiffly squared inside a plush jacket.

"Lucky us." Slugworth muttered sarcastically, posture coiled. Without asking he slid a cigarette out from his cohort's pack. It was ungracefully ignited with the flame from a worn table decoration.

"But ya sound American." Insisted Mr. Fickelgruber, since that fact had previously made he alone exotic. Legs wide open, he comfortably sprawled within the space.

"I err…had American tutors growin' up. Yeah." The candymaker looked impressed with his own uncertain response. Eyes then darted away from the other men's inspection.

The waitress returned and delivered their orders, Wonka leaning exaggeratedly away from her arm as his was placed down. He continued, "Americans are the pioneers of commercial mass marketing, especially television. I've been keepin' an eye on everything from children's programs to music videos!"

What that could possibly have to do with running their everyday business, the men had no idea. They watched as Wonka stuck his hands into his pockets and began dumping the contents onto the table, bundles wrapped in linen handkerchiefs; one of which he promptly used to wipe down his area and another placed elegantly underneath the tall glass. Left behind was a yo-yo, a deck of cards, colored plastic spoons, seashells, knotted bits of string, money from various countries and a chromatic harmonica. These were some of the items accompanying a dozen packets of sugar, each of which were plucked out and speedily being stirred into the milk.

"_Everything's_ better with sugar, don't you agree?! I mean it's fantabulous tah meet others who love candy as much as I do! Growin' up, people thought I was totally bonkers!" He released a particularly strained, high-pitched giggle. The men might have offered another wisecrack at that, but the removal of a switchblade from his breast pocket, metal swiftly flicked out, kept them focused and quiet.

Dusk had turned to night outside, making the restaurant even darker. Stained glass windows permitted no view in or out. Relaxed patrons had become intoxicated and louder; a few couples were shoulder dancing but at the moment, the candymen's table had become a bubble universe, causing everything else to fade away.

Still concentrating on his work, maraschino cherries were carefully spliced into roses and floated onto the bubbly froth on top. As a final effect, young Mr. Wonka opened the last packet of large, raw sugar granules -- sprinkling them from above like fairy dust, causing the whole thing to delicately sparkle under the candlelight of the dim bar. The even features of the young man took on a new appearance too under the play of shadow; looking up, he resembled a wild-eyed wizard rather than an over-enthusiastic novice.

The other men stared in awe.

"It's too pretty to eat…" Prodnose said quietly.

"Fiddle-dee-dee, pretty things should be appreciated." Wonka said dismissively. Form-fitted leather gloves crinkled and spread like curtains as he pushed the creation toward them, "Go 'head, give it a taste. The proof of the pudding is in the eatin'."

Mr. Prodnose went for it first, "Caw! Blimey! I'd go to the moon for this! It even tastes like vanilla now. How'd you do that?"

"Some of the sugar packets had been sittin' on my fresh shipment of Tahitian vanilla beans. Musta' leaked into them." The candymaker's coy manner suggested that the result was mere happenstance instead of any calculated maneuver. The statement also explained some of his recent, exotic parcels.

Curiosity had gotten the better of Fickelgruber and he'd taken a slurp. He commented, "Mmm, It's got syrup at the bottom as well."

Wonka's giggle acquired more mirth, something vying between a child with a favorite toy and a discovery made by a mad inventor, "That's my favorite part! If you sweeten it enough, the extra sugar crystals gather at the bottom and do that."

As it was slid over to Slugworth, he added, "Try it with a rose and it'll become _cherry_ vanilla flavored."

"Right then. And why don't you try a sip of ale?" The petit man pushed his untouched glass over with a twinge of mischievousness. "…since we're _sharing_."

Willy's smile became stuck as he examined the dark liquid. He didn't want to be rude to his new friends, after all. Reluctantly, he picked up the mug as Mr. Slugworth sucked on the milk straw. A choke and gag followed soon after. Wonka hastily lifted a monogrammed handkerchief to his mouth with a dissatisfied expression of disgust. "Yuck! There has to be a way to make liquor taste better than that."

It seemed apparent to the men that this genius, this slip of a thing (to their eyes), that they were convinced was so conniving, hadn't even been to a real bar before! He was totally wet behind the ears! A series of smirks was exchanged between them and silently the quote, _"Keep your friends close but your enemies closer"_,sprang mutually to mind.

"Aw, you're a good chap for trying." Stated Prodnose. "Wash it out with a swallow of your potion there."

However, a gurgling suction noise indicated that Mr. Slugworth had at that very second finished the very last drop of the very same drink that they'd previously taunted the young man for ordering in the first place. He said unapologetically, "It went well with those cookies from your pockets."

"You mean the…_doggie_ biscuits." Corrected Willy. Another old adage proved true; he who laughs last, does indeed laugh hardest. The one left gagging and choking now was Slugworth as a new melody began being sung:

**That old black magic has me in its spell**

**That old black magic that you weave so well**

**Icy fingers up and down my spine**

**The same old witchcraft when your eyes meet mine**

**The same old tingle that I feel inside**

**When that elevator starts its ride**

**Down and down I go, round and round I go**

**Like a leaf that's caught in the tide…**

Despite Slugworth uncontrollably barking for days thereafter, that memorable evening was the first of many competitively friendly gatherings.

Around this same time, the chocolatier developed his "Butter Scotch" and "Butter Rum" formulas, rendering liquor as palatable as syrup. The tonics were successfully sold to the local pub, which drove patrons to his shop for bottles of similarly liquor-filled chocolates. It also allowed Willy to feel less out-of-place, by being able to order the occasional drink himself (even though it gave him a bad case of hiccups).

Willy Wonka did sincerely try to help the other storeowners improve their wares, though unlike candy, _tact_ was not one of his specialties. In fact, his numerous oddities, which would constantly pop up despite forced efforts at social graces, became the source of many a private joke. There was no way around it – Willy Wonka was weird. But he still encouraged them, one by one: Fickelgruber to try new recipes, Slugworth to use higher quality ingredients & improve his salesmanship, then Prodnose to have as much passion for his products as he did for his equipment. Likewise the younger man's keen ability to observe and learn through osmosis allowed him to gain the better aspects of his rival's faults: Fickelgruber taught him confidence (from where the phrase "confidence is key" was acquired) and establishing signature products, versus the chaotic conceptual splurges he usually went on. Slugworth's frugality and sneaky nature caused him to ponder economics and learn there was always more than one way to skin a cat, and Prodnose proved that machines could be used to create marvels impossible by human touch alone. However, Willy being the youngest, least educated and by technical accounts the most inexperienced chocolatier, they often felt it was _they_ who should be the mentors; arrogance and pride frequently stood in the way of listening to his advice. Sometimes ideas were used, but they'd claim credit. This dishonesty greatly enraged Wonka though he usually found subversive ways to balance the scales without destroying the camaraderie, chalking it up to getting better at business.

For Wonka had a golden touch; everything he did, he did well, and ten times better than anyone else. It was nearly impossible not to be jealous of such talent -- merely being in proximity to the candymaker proved potentially detrimental! As time went on, the men were finding that they simply could not compete; they weren't as smart, quick, worldly, dedicated or inventive as he. In other words, they were going to have to find other ways to keep themselves from being put out of a job! Slugworth, Fickelgruber and Prodnose decided that if they couldn't beat him in _strengths_, then they would search out _weaknesses_.

While much information was exchanged and discussed between the candymakers, it could be sensed that Wonka always held much back. The distance was interpreted negatively, especially since the young man's final recipes were completely off limits (notes of which were always kept in pocket-sized notebooks). Willy drew a non-negotiable line there; therefore the others became convinced that somewhere in them must be keys to how his mind worked, keys to his success. So partly from the challenge of it and partly from desperation, the three men became determined to get a look at one of those note books!

As another old adage goes: "Alls fair in love and war".

This was both.

An advantageous opportunity presented itself on the celebratory eve of the chocolatier's one-year success as a storefront. And on that same week, "Whipple Scrumptious FudgeMallow Delight" became the #1 selling candy bar in the entire world! To the surprise of patrons, a band and dancing girls had been paid to entertain for the evening. Dressed in sequins and feathers, Mr. Wonka was entranced as anyone else by the women's performance, doing his unusual swaying and bobbing to the synchronized beat. Drums pounded, a string bass strummed, and brass horns wailed. People danced about and everyone helped themselves to colorful cocktails made with the sweetest liquor. There was a joyful feeling in the air. The other candymakers sat slightly behind the man of honor, watching events unfold.

Mr. Prodnose muttered, "It wasn't easy, but I got a blonde, a redhead, a brunette and that dark-skinned Chiquita. There's gotta be something on the menu he'll like."

"Personally I'd take a slice of each." Mr. Slugworth said nearly drooling. He was the bachelor of the trio and with good reason.

One woman was bold enough to plop herself into the young candymaker's lap, wrapping a boa around his neck as she whispered, "Is that a banana in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?"

Startled as he was, Wonka looked back and responded, "It's a harmonica actually."

"Wotever you want to call it, big boy."

The dancer became flustered as the man nudged her off his thighs and began reaching into his pants. He explained, "Heh. It's rather long. I'm afraid I'm going to need tah stand up to show you."

Their actions had caused many patrons to gawk as he rummaged around with effort, final removal of the object accented by an obscene slide of sound from the trombone player. Laughter ensued. Willy turned to the watchers and announced, "And I can play it too!"

On cue, a bright spotlight flashed upon him.

They cheered the candymaker on as he slung the feather boa over one shoulder, shifted his top hat to a jaunty tilt and jumped onto the stage. He tapped the microphone with a giggle and a nerdish sounding, "Testing, one, two, testing."

Cupping the instrument within his hands, he took a deep breath and pressed it to his mouth:

**WhhHHHHhaAAAAOOOLOooooooo!**

Fingers jerked and flicked around feverishly as he slid it along his lips. The first long wail evolving into complex hums of slippery rhythm, pronounced by breath and the pressure of his tongue, fluxuating vibrato accenting notes that resembled a human voice. Willy didn't just know how to play a harmonica -- he _owned_ it!

_**WhhaaaAAAA!**_

_**Whaamp, whaaahahhnnNN, wha-wha-wha, whamp!**_

_**Whaamp, whaaahahhnnNN, wha-wha-wha, whamp!**_

_**MMmmnnnLalalalalaalaaaaAAAAAALlllnnnnn!**_

_**Whan, whan, whan, whan!**_

_**WhhHHHHhaAAAAOOOLOooooooo!**_

Lost in the music he was creating, the band began to follow along as best as possible with beat and string. Everyone was thoroughly impressed, particularly the dancing women who had promoted themselves to his back-up chorus. Costumes sparkled like stars under the blare of stage lights as they manufactured unison moves such as snapping fingers and shaking hips. The candymaker only paused briefly to offer his broadest, most grateful smile to his friends seated in the audience. They managed to wipe the startled looks off their faces in order to smile back, but inside each was a seething of great envy, a feeling that had been building over time and which this scene was doing nothing to improve. As soon as Wonka's head bent down upon his instrument again, cheeks alternately puffing and concaving. Their friendly expressions became scowls.

"Hotshot showoff! Always has to be the center of attention!"

"Playing us for muggins, with that simple and naive act."

"Well _this_ time it's going to do him in, chaps."

Then their jaws had to drop a little further again as Willy broke away from the mouth harp to sing lyrics. This too was done as sweetly as any sugar he spun.

_**Well all you ladies gather 'round,**_

_**The good sweet candy man's in town,**_

_**It's the candyman,**_

_**The candyman.**_

_**He's got a stick of candy nine-inch long,**_

_**He sells it as fast as a hog can chew corn,**_

_**It's the candy man,**_

_**It's the candy man.**_

**Whaamp, whaaahahhnnNN, wha-wha-wha, whamp!**

_**You all heard what Sister Jones has said,**_

_**Always takes a candy stick to bed,**_

_**It's the candy man,**_

_**It's the candy man.**_

_**Don't stand close to the candy man,**_

_**He'll leave a candy stick in your hand,**_

_**It's the candy man,**_

_**It's the candy man.**_

**Whaamp, whaaahahhnnNN, wha-wha-wha, whamp!**

_**He sold some candy to Sister Bad,**_

_**The very next day, she took all he had,**_

_**It's the candy man, it's the candy man.**_

_**If you try his candy, good friend of mine,**_

_**You sure will want it for a long time,**_

_**It's the candy man,**_

_**It's the candy man.**_

_**His stick candy don't melt away,**_

_**Just gets better so the ladies say,**_

_**It's the candy man,**_

_**It's the candy man!**_

**WhhaaaAAAA!**

**Whaamp, whaaahahhnnNN, wha-wha-wha, whamp!**

**Whaamp, whaaahahhnnNN, wha-wha-wha, whamp!**

**MMmmnnnLalalalalaalaaaaAAAAAALlllnnnnn!**

**Whan, whan, whan, whan!**

**WhhHHHHhaAAAAOOOLOooooooo!**

After a while of performing with the girls and the band, even joining a Can-can dance at one point (during which he nearly fell but was caught), the man and the audience did become weary. Slower melodies were the request of the latter part of the evening.

Clammy and out of breath, the shop owner took a much-earned bow before exiting the stage to the back room, where he'd been summoned. The dancing girls too, were entitled to a break and altogether too anxious to spend it with the talented, polite and handsome gentleman. Once inside, a tray with refreshments faced away from the mirrored wall. Gratefully Wonka reached for the pitcher of ice water, pouring a glass that was quickly being guzzled down. Chattanooga Choo Choo, a jazzy but smooth melody, could be discerned in the background. The brunette came up behind him, her eyes tracing his body like a cat as she slid long, fake fingernails up his velvety arms and to his shoulders.

"Take your coat?"

Without looking back at her, switching hands so that he could keep drinking, he permitted the stuffy garment to be removed.

"Wherever did a white boy like you learn to play The Blues like that?" Said the exotic one while sliding off her high heel shoes, sounds of snaps and buttons following in cue.

"Ridin' rail road trains with other hobos, err, I mean passengers. I've traveled all over the place and music is a great way to pass the time. Yeah." Another glass of water was being downed. He paused, "Of course to really play The Blues properly, ya gotta have a sadness…deep down in yer soul."

His features caught up with the words that had come out of his own mouth. Had he really just said that out loud? From behind, various voices spoke.

"Aw, poor pretty baby."

"Why don't you give _us_ a ride?"

"We'll suck that sadness right out of you, candyman."

The blonde let loose a braying laugh. She grabbed at his rear end, causing Willy to yelp and spin around, discovering that the women were practically naked at this point! Their dancing garments were draped and strewn around, fantasy glamour reduced to curtain rags. The redhead seated upon the make-up counter suggestively split her legs open. Exact sizes and shapes of every female's breasts and nipples was no longer a fact unknown. This was _not_ something the chocolatier had anticipated or ever been "exposed" to; being considered attractive was somewhat new. He froze. Dewdrops of sweat traced their bodies like chilled ones formed on the glass dropped to the floor. Limbs, lips, scents and sensations of warm, curved people completely unfamiliar to him were suddenly everywhere. It wasn't much space, more like a large closet, certainly too confining for five people and getting smaller by the second. His pulse quickened, as did the loud music on stage drowning out their every word to any potential eavesdropper.

"No, please…stop." His voice was small, frightened.

"Wot's the matter, honey?"

"Got a bird? We'll never tell."

"We know how to keep a secret."

"Yes, you can tell us _all_ your secrets."

Mr. Slugworth and Mr. Fickelgruber, slightly inebriated and attempting to entertain (as well as distract) what was left of the party attendees, had begun doing a preposterous ballroom dance together. Mr. Prodnose was seated, clapping hands and stomping his feet to the beat. The trio halted upon the sight of a disheveled Mr. Wonka, bolting like a bat out of Hell from the dressing room and dashing to the back of the pub -- he was quite speedy when he wanted to be! A moment later the quartet of women came strutting over, pouting, coats pulled firmly closed, high heels clacking the floor as sharply as a flamenco dancer's. They glared at the other candymen, throwing Wonka's hat and coat at them.

"We got nothing. 'e didn't bloody want any of us!"

"Look, we REALLY wanted that extra bonus you promised, but it felt like we was molesting a five-year-old!"

"Is he some kind of uptight religious nutter or wot?"

"I've never been so insulted in my life. _Hmph!_"

They all agreed upon the last remark and stomped out the door to the parked van they'd arrived in. It was a pity that none of them would visit a doctor in time to be made aware of the damaging venereal diseases they were carrying, ones that would eventually destroy their own reproductive organs (and worse) without proper treatment.

The three candymakers looked baffled at one another.

"Nutter? Definitely. Though near as I can tell the guy's totally Godless, so it wasn't that." Mr. Fickelgruber said scratching his head, expensive plan put to ruins. "I mean how picky can a guy be?!"

Removing a rose from between his yellowed teeth, Slugworth's said, "Why I don't believe any lady _could_ please our…friend. I do believe he's _light-footed_."

"Pardon?" Said Prodnose. "Wot's his dance moves to do with anything?"

"No, no, no. Sluggy thinks Weirdo Willy is…" Mr. Fickelgruber was sure to state under his breath, hand cupped, "a homosexual."

Adding, "Disgusting as that is, it sure would explain a lot."

"NOTHING explains Wonka, but this might be a good way to get _closer_ to him." Slugworth posed a wry grin to his good-looking, younger partner.

Fickelgruber choked from the shock of understanding his comrade's suggestion, looking rather uncertain he responded, "_hack! __**cough!**_ Hey, I ain't no angel but I've never been to Sodom _or_ Gomorrah."

"Do you want those secret formulas or not?" Insisted Slugworth angrily, his small body tense within an ill-fitting, cheap suit.

"_I'll_ do it!"

The other two men were taken aback by Prodnose's rather anxious volunteering. They looked back at one another -- this was turning into a very interesting night indeed!

Sulking in the darkest corner, as far away as possible from any living soul, sat Willy Wonka.

Over the year, he and the former train conductor had probably formed the strongest bond, a connection brought about by an equal dissatisfaction with life and a similar ability to get lost in their imagination; in the older man's case, it was a frustration of having been talked into giving up his career for the sake of raising a family that never came into fruition, of letting someone else control his life. A shuffling from old boots disturbed the solitude, as did a glass that was ineptly clunked upon the table seconds later. "Got you a fresh drink. Told 'em to do it how you like, extra sweet and fancy."

It was a jolly, common voice Mr. Prodnose had, one that could evoke trust or aggravation depending on your mood. At the moment it was doing a bit of both. Wonka deigned to look at the table, fully prepared to turn the beverage down. But there it was: a gigantic hourglass, delightful shade of magenta, miniature umbrellas, a skewer of colorful fruit and a bendy straw. He loved bendy straws. Plus today _was_ still a special occasion. Why this creation was made with his very own products, proof positive of his own dreams and hard work finally coming to fruition. He deserved at least one drink to his own success. Yeah. A tiny twinkle appeared in his eye.

There was a polite mumble of gratitude before he reached for it, sucking down a slow cool swallow, then lamenting, "I made a goshdarn fool of myself."

"Certainly not. Everyone thought your performance was brilliant, top notch!" Mr. Prodnose had watched ordinary actions with interest; he was aware that it was a very talented mouth the young man possessed.

"Heh. Heh. Really? That's very flat—ah, but, er…I meant with the ladi—um, w-women rather." Calling those people "ladies" didn't seem quite fitting. Nerves caused him to take a few more swallows, hiding his face and shame, looking more a boy than a man.

"Oh, that." Prodnose played dumb, sitting beside him in the long booth. "Not very experienced in that department, eh?"

Willy looked at his fellow candymaker annoyed for the assumption. Then gave up the bluff with a sigh, gently admitting, "…no."

"Buck up! You're young and besides, it was a relief to find anything you _weren't_ immediately amazing at!" He put an arm around Wonka's shoulder, making an admittance of his own, with a clink of his flask against the tropical drink, "Take it from a more 'experienced' fellow, you're not missing much. The fairer sex can be lovely, but their company comes at a great cost."

"Mmmm….", Wonka mused, nibbling at the fruit skewer. From far in his past, he knew more about that subject than Prodnose could be aware and found those words to be darkly true. He felt the man's arm squeezing around him and didn't mind at the moment. Instead it was nice to be in the company of someone of the same gender, whose scent and sensations were familiar, even reticent of…of…something though he wasn't sure if he'd ever really experienced it.

Feeling light-headed, he closed his eyes, neck bending to rest on the other candymaker -- alone in a dark void of thought -- mind drifting…fixating…on a word...an idea…missing from the celebration…missing from…everything. Out of the blackest blue, a vortex, he remembered, and barely whispered the word.

"father."

Mr. Prodnose could not discern what was said as the moist, ripe lips parted. However those lowered shadowed lids, that flawless skin, this limp helpless posture were calling, had been, he admitted to himself, for a long time now. This wasn't just a favor to Slugworth or Fickelgruber. This was giving in to an urge, a bad one, and using them as an excuse. He gently stroked the short, lush hair – color of rich chocolate itself, bouquet none too different. Cheeks were flushed from both warmth and drunkenness. His clothes were uncharacteristically disheveled; even the top button of his pants was undone. Suggestive. Particularly since his underwear was made of silk. Willy was fascinatingly androgynous, credited it seemed, with the best of both sexes in one body; a welcome difference from the qualities he'd grown bitter about while still possessing those most alluring. Intoxicating. He subtly licked his own vestigial lips.

"As you said, pretty things are meant to be appreciated and those tarts could never have appreciated you properly, could they of?"

"No one understands me." The young man slurred in response, followed by the jerking of a gentle hiccup. He sounded terribly sad, like a person with a wish that had never come true. Coming from someone who granted them on a daily basis, to countless consumers, made it even more heart aching.

"I think _I_ do." The older man held him tighter, arms lower, more like an embrace. He stammered excitedly, "Maybe…maybe we could, go into business together, just us two? I'll finally leave my shrew of a wife and we'll be all the other ever needs. Oh, it would be _wonderful_ to see that smile of yours actually on Christmas morning."

Willy was completely flustered by this. Was he hallucinating? He felt very strange. This was actually the THIRD time he'd had a proposal for partnership, each man had tried to undersell the other, starting with Slugworth. It was funny in a horrible way, he supposed, the candymen weren't that dissimilar from whores themselves. Managing to collect a conscious thought, he answered, "Mr. Prodnose **hic** I don't celibate uh, cere-blate Christmas. A-a-and I'mmm…not **hic** lookin' fer a partner."

The older man's face drew close enough for him to make out every pore and broken capillary, the rough graying five o' clock shadow, the smell of lager and whiskey on his breath, his wild eyes. "But you need one! Everyone can see your loneliness and everyone knows why you really didn't like the dancing girls."

_Everyone_ could see his loneliness?? Panic set into the chocolatier that disturbed the deepest part of his guts, enough to distract him from the second part of the statement. Why he really didn't like the girls?? Huh? And then there it was…a pair of lips against his own.

"MmnHh." He squirmed and resisted, but his usual strength had slipped away.

He really should find this entirely disgusting, and rest assured a part of him did, but on the other hand, there was…something. Mr. Prodnose was an ordinary man. He wasn't faster, stronger, or more clever than other men. Nor was he rich or powerful or well connected. But there was…something. He thought. They did have passing similar interests. Maybe it would be enough, maybe it could be worked into a semblance of…more? There was _more_, wasn't there? His upbringing had not assured him of this, but he'd seen it a lot. It was intangible, but desired by people even more than candy. Some went so far as to _murder_ for it. Theoretically, it must be awfully valuable even though it was invisible and had no taste.

In the nearly black room, clinging on to him tighter, the kissing and caressing continued. Was this how it was supposed to feel? Was it supposed to feel unpleasant? What they were doing was considered forbidden and wrong by many cultures and Wonka knew it, but those notions had a habit of pulling him in rather than scaring him off. His companion was getting as worked up as a teenager during a make-out session in the backseat of a car. Willy was at a loss of what to do and kept falling deeper into a stupor. Sounds that could've been interpreted as protests or encouragement were all that the young man could make. His limbs became useless.

Peeking from the archway were two figures. Fickelgruber whispered first.

"Woah, look at 'em go."

"I'd never have believed it if I hadn't seen it with me own two eyes."

"I think I'm gonna be sick."

"Tsk. Can't be worse than wot happened to your brother."

"I keep tellin' ya not to bring that shit up! Stay focused. We got his coat and hat. No notebooks."

"No, and my hand still stings. Wot sort of person puts _mousetraps_ in their coat pocket?!"

"A very smart weirdo, that's who."

With that last comment, Fickelgruber had finally managed to attract Prodnose's attention, attempting to communicate with gestures that the oldest candymaker wasn't following. Very aggravating. It didn't matter anyway for Mr. Wonka had completely passed out in his arms. The two walked into the room, nervously looking over their shoulders. Fortunately no one was left except the staff busily cleaning up.

"Check the vest pocket." Slugworth hissed anxiously.

Sure enough, a simple red notepad and elegant pen was discovered. Prodnose held them out feebly, continuing to cradle the unconscious man.

"What, didja forget why we sent ya here in the first place?" Fickelgruber looked at his cohort with repulsion. Was Prodnose actually _enjoying_ this?

He averted eye contact, "C-could you fellows uh, leave us alone a few minutes longer?"

"But he's-"

"Cheers. Let's go. I can't make anything out in here anyway, everything's in code." Slugworth cut Fickelgruber off, squinting at the pad and tugging the other candymaker's arm out of the room.

Back at the bar, Slugworth murmured with vengeance in his tone (recalling side effects he'd suffered from things consumed) "Remember wot I put in the drink? Well uh, I put in enough of it to drug an elephant."

Fickelgruber pulled out a cigarette flipping through the notepad, nonchalantly stating, "That could kill him, ya know."

"Bad for business." Snickered Slugworth. "Good for a zombie lover. Let Prodnose take the blame. Pervert. Ought to be more careful wot he _prods!_"

They both cracked up loudly.

Twisting the notepad left, right, upside down, elbows upon the wood, feet tapping at the brass below, neither could make sense of Wonka's notes: lengthy chemical equations, strange symbols, impossible ingredients, ridiculous notions. Here and there was poetry, bars of music, jagged doodles. Star inside a circle, one of the only repeated images. They pondered; maybe he wasn't simply eccentric, maybe he actually was _mad_? However this madman really was creating those crazy confections and their vast success was not quite real too. Puzzle inside a puzzle. Oh but they'd remember everything they saw in that little pad and they'd spend the rest of their lives trying to figure it out – so help them God.

Willy was not dead. He was flat on his stomach, face and chest pressed against firmly stuffed leather cushions. Awoken by a most unfamiliar sensation, the back of his pants being slid down. That word he'd been repeating: something. Well, _something_ was wrong! He tried to yell. A hand wrapped tight against his mouth, pushing fingers into his mouth, swiftly silencing the sloppy utterance. He felt the heavy weight of a body from behind, heard a familiar voice with an unfamiliar sound.

"You know you want it."

He actually had no idea what he wanted, but "it" was definitely not on the list. This was nothing like the something he'd seen other people marvel or write poetry about; one was normally conscious for that. _This_ was rape. This was complete disregard for another person, selfish need dismantling an individual into faceless desire. And he was the victim. He was the stupid idiot who'd gotten into this position by allowing himself to be so vulnerable. That was about to change. He still had a chance to prevent a final violation.

The young man's teeth were not only for show. They worked exquisitely, sharp and strong as ceramic knives was each, frequently making neat work and ideal digestion of his food. With them now, he bit down and cared not what got in their way; skin, fat, muscle, or bone. A following attempted scream did not belong to Wonka.

"_**AAa-!"**_

It too was swiftly silenced. Tables were literally being turned as one toppled over. Willy twisted around to face his attacker; his skin luminescent, lips a true blood red. Turning his kissing lesson into a form of attack, lips lunged against lips again causing the silence, and then pushing him backward until upright. Next straddling the hefty man's lap, gripping the jumpsuit angrily in fists to press their faces tighter together. Acting on pure instinct, with a hidden aspect rising to protect himself, taking back the advantage. One thing was clear in his mind, he wanted NONE of what had been offered!

Prodnose was in more than one kind of shock, sensations of rubbing and twisting forcing him to climax while the violence was being committed. Slim, sleek body restraining him, proving twice as strong as his own! Willy's mouth was wide open upon the unfinished scream, effort of prehensile tongue, and pressure upon his throat, caused the older fellow to swallow what had been severed from his own body. It left a flavor in his mouth that anyone would hope never to taste again, that instead he'd taste forever more: sweetest nectar, burning alcohol, tainted hemoglobin and shattered hope – flavor akin to death. The young man finally pulled off, panting, oddly satisfied. Purple eyes shone like jewels embedded in an ancient idol; squeezed narrow, cursing the body beneath them. No, they had never truly known each other, not what the other yearned for or what they were capable of.

Slack jawed, hand limp and profusely bleeding, Mr. Prodnose could not move, his mind and body slowly going numb. Wonka spit on the floor and wiped his mouth across a loosely hanging sleeve. Energy had been growing and created that midnight, one now being spewed back with force.

"There. Gave it all back."

Mr. Wonka stood up, gained his balance, adjusted his trousers and wobbled out of the shadows, toward the bar where the other two were studiously hunched over.

"I. Trusted. You."

Mr. Fickelgruber and Mr. Slugworth turned around.

The person they saw was technically Willy Wonka, but not the one they knew. He looked less human, certainly less naive. Although the young man had found his coat and top hat and put them back on, nothing was quite in place. This same statement could have been made about his general state of mind. But then, what would someone expect from a person with blood smeared all over their mouth and chest? Of course, for a "dead man" he looked amazing.

The vampire-like person before them repeats his words with leaden weight and a very human fracture of grief.

"I. _Trusted_. You."

Wonka didn't speak again for a moment. He stood motionless like a statue. More death. More people he never knew. Their faces remained stunned, unable to comprehend the value of what had been stated.

Suddenly, supernaturally fast, he reached between the two of them. Slugworth and Fickelgruber yelped and actually fell off their stools in an effort to avoid contact; a spoor of blood left behind on the bar's surface. However, the chocolatier had meant no physical threat, he was merely retrieving the last thing stolen from him. The notepad. Tucking his mysterious collection of thoughts back into place, he spoke again and swore _he'd build the biggest chocolate factory ever seen_ and put it right here, in the little town. They'd see. One day, they'd wake up and they'd see it every single day! If it was a challenge and competition they wanted, that was exactly what they would get!!

After which he grabbed his cane from the umbrella stand, walking confidently out of the pub, never to be seen there ever again.

Psssst! _….hssst…._ 

Psssst! _….hssst…._ 

Psssst! _….hssst…._ 

Psssst! _….hssst…._

Slugworth leaned glaring into the stunned Buckets' eyes. "But _**wheeze**_ that wasn't true as much…of what he says isn't. He didn't _trust us_. HE…used _US_."

"Yeah, so big deal. They tried to do the same thing back and it got a little outta control." Fickelgruber Jr. said, mouth full of a cupcake (that had been made to look like a cheeseburger). Without a flicker of remorse he said, "It's not like yer professor there wasn't into it. So c'mon Steamboat Willy, I've been dyin' to ask all these years, what _do_ you want? Oysters or snails? Maybe shrimp?"

For the first time since the story began being told, the chocolatier looked at them. When he spoke, his voice was clear but weak, if the words had been paper they would have been crumpled.

"A friend."

Psssst! _….hssst…._

Psssst! _….hssst…._

Psssst! _….hssst…._ 

Psssst! _….hssst…._ 

Could it have actually been guilt causing a lack of retort?

Looking away again, shaking his head, the tears finally fall, from each eye, one at a time. It wasn't much except it marked the loss of a battle that Mr. Wonka had been fighting inside himself for a rather long time. What he'd never told the men was that not only had he considered them friends, but poor as it turned out, they had been his _only_ friends. They'd never understand. They'd never care. They couldn't see farther than over their own hideous noses. Another part of his heart had hardened on that day. After that, his investment of concern became strictly for inventing, business and his workers (who kept those things going). However, in time, their filthy hands too would ruin this.

Charlie Bucket's face had become as difficult to read as _his friend's_ usually was. His initial question about why everyone couldn't work together had been more than answered. As had his curiosity about Mr. Prodnose's comment and missing digits! The child had absorbed the whole thing, everything that was said and much that wasn't, scanning the men again, one by one until he reached Mr. Wonka. More dark truths behind the image resurrected. His eyes looked rather brown; maybe it was a trick of the light, but knowing the chocolatier most likely not.

Shoulders sloped the man put his head down again. A third heavy droplet of water fell. He might have finally truly surrendered but then a small and extraordinary thing happened, just like…a Bucket.

"Mr. Wonka, I brewed some hot chocolate along with the tea. You look slightly overdue for a dose." Mrs. Bucket stood by the famous chocolatier's side. To his amazement, she spoke as if she hadn't lost an ounce of respect for him. He looked at her in stunned affirmation. Without touching him, she carefully placed the freshly poured cup under his nose, scent wafting upward on a whorl of steam.

He leaned in and took a sip; the rich, creamy taste of his own river nourishing body and soul. Chocolate -- the flavor of dreams.

Fate had delivered.

Mr. Prodnose spoke up again, "I say, retelling that story made me realize wot we came 'ere for in the first place, wot we ran out of and couldn't reproduce no matter how hard we tried. Those secret ingredients of yours."

Psssst! _….hssst…._ 

Psssst! _….hssst…._ 

"Tell us William…where do you keep them?"

A beacon in the lighthouse of the candyman's soul had been re-lit, the effect was subtle but not missed by those who cared for him. He smacked his lips, as if still overwhelmed and parched, "I believe…I need another cup of cocoa please."

The four invaders stared impatiently as he took his time finishing it.

Satisfied, he finally spoke again, "Why I keep my secret ingredients in the Secret Ingredients Room, of course."

Fickelgruber Jr. made a face. "Ass. We coulda figured that out for ourselves. Kinda obvious name, dontcha think? I mean, what's tah keep anyone from finding it?"

Willy shrugged, grinning, "Nothin' at all, I suppose."

"No, Mr. Wonka!" Charlie exclaimed. "You can't take them _there!_"

Assuming his heir was being protective and loyal, that this room was the mother load; they demanded to be taken there next!

Smiling from ear to ear, singsong tone back in his cadence, "Now, now. A deal is a deal. And I never break my promises."

Charming and frightening as always, thought the boy.

**Author's Notes****:**

**WORTH RESTATING: Thank you for all the feedback and friendship these years long, it is those simple things that mean so much and are the best reward I could hope for my tireless efforts.**

**Young Willy Wonka - this is the beautiful young man, owner of his own shop, that these ideas were weaved from. **

**i13./albums/a300/idolhands/YoungWillyWonka.jpg**

**1/0 "undefined" in mathematics. I reference this and other scientific terms in the description to create a complex confusion that is and is not nonsense. ahem**

"_**double, double, toil and trouble"**_** is a line from ****Macbeth****, spoken by the 3 witches, who represent the goddesses of fate (the Moriae) from ancient Pagan eras. Shakespeare writes epic poems, often tragedy. I suppose there is a similar feeling to this project. **

**My German grandfather, the real life chocolatier, whom I never met but who lives on through my mother's tales, also kept a toy train collection -- part of my inspiration came from there.**

**I thought it would be cool to put young Willy in the vest that Gene wore in the first adaptation, as seen here (it would look good with his eyes):**

**i13(dot)(slash)albums(slash)a300(slash)idolhands(slash)WWatCF-WonkaCharlie(dot)jpg**

**Do parents still read their children, ****The Little Engine That Could****? It is an old tale that dates back to the turn of the century and was published under Sunday school education actually. Which should show you the subtle ways that religions and their precepts affect our lives. This need not be negative or Christian, but many remain hidden or become warped due to our own ignorance, information lost to the passing of time within the brief span of human lives and attention spans. **

"**Chocolade" is the Dutch word for chocolate. "Dab hand" is British slang for someone who is very talented at something.**

**Sulfur and brimstone are frequently associated with things from Hell, but I personally like the odors.**

**The Queen Mum, HRM Queen Elizabeth II, has been an avid dog lover for her entire long life (born in 1926) and specifically keeps an entourage of corgis at her side at all times.**

**i13.photobucket(dot)com(slash)albums(slash)a300(slash)idolhands(slash)53463765(dot)jpg**

**i13(dot)photobucket(dot)com(slash)albums(slash)a300(slash)idolhands(slash)mandm(dot)jpg**

**The first song being sung is ****La Vie En Rose****, in French, originally sung and popularized by Edith Piaf in 1946, but re-sung since by many. **

**A deck of cards can serve as an impromptu tarot deck. A chromatic harmonica, is a fancier version of a regular harmonica; a step close to the pan flute and reticent of harmony, harmonics and music in general. Do you recall the reason Wonka has knotted string from a previous volume? Yo-yo's are just fun, popular since the 20's, but dating back as far as Ancient Greece. Willy had books on them in his library (along with far heavier reading material), you may recall.**

"**The proof of the pudding is in the eating" dates from the tale ****Don Quioxte**** (1605) which I've referenced before in drawings Mr. Wonka does of himself from the scrying mirror as well as a reference to the which would have starred Johnny Depp.**

**www(dot)youtube(dot)com(slash)watch?v6SkSdjDmouo**

**Where did I get the milk idea? My very own mother did this in New York City diners, growing up. Far less fancifully done than Wonka, it was a poor kid's way of making simple milk into a dessert.**

**The following song being sung is ****That Old Black Magic****, a popular tune from 1942 but also re-sung many times throughout history as well as referenced in popular media. I wanted to capture a timeless feeling while also suggesting the age/timing that Burton set-up. It's tricky, but fun. Fortunately I enjoy such music myself.**

**Leonardo DaVinci also kept thorough and wildly imaginative notions in pocket-sized notebooks.**

**The more I thought about Willy playing a harmonica, the more I liked it. I'm hinting at the Pied Piper again too. I imagine him sounding something like this:**

**www(dot)youtube(dot)com(slash)watch?vhsOchfmBc8**

**I hope you also understand hints at other parts of the candymaster's youth that are being interjected.**

"**Muggins" is slang for a simple person or fool. "Bird" means girlfriend.**

**Candyman Blues**** is a real song by Mississippi John Hurt. To quote one person on the web, **_**"Need I say what this 'stick of candy nine inch long' is? Yes…that's what it is!"**_

**Please note that Mr. Fickelgruber's comments reflect the attitudes of past generations, which were even stronger in their negativity than today.**

**History of bending straws, fascinating:**

**Americanhistory(dot)si(dot)edu(slash)archives(slash)d8769.htm**

"_**No one understands me."**_** happens to also be a line from Michael Jackson's song ****Childhood****.**

_**Mr. Prodnose was an ordinary man…or well connected.**_** - lines deliberately lifted from Burton's film. I want to show that Mr. Wonka was even then open to a companion of ordinary standing.**

**The final dramatic scene is alluding to "blood magick" which, when using **_**other**_** people's blood, is pretty much equated with "black magic".**

**I'd like to make a final note about the negative way that women were portrayed in this volume; it's not meant to be a broad statement but rather enhance the tale and character. However, I assure you that such elements do truly exist.**

**Steamboat**** Willy was one of Walt Disney's first animated films. - thx trelliachan!**

"_**Oysters or snails"**_** is a reference to an often deleted scene from ****Ben Hur****, which reveals a General as bisexual, as he propositions his male captive. Look it up, watch the film.**

**Fan Works Finder account to leave additional reviews or for information regarding more fan fiction.**

**www(dot)fanworksfinder(dot)com(slash)smartsearch(dot)php?searchIDOL HANDS&tagauthor**


	24. Volume 23 Part I

**Title****:** Is It Scary, XXIII (Part 1) – An unresolved past chases no matter where ye flee.

**By****:** IDOL HANDS

**Rating****:** R

**Warnings****:** Dark & mature themes: Violence, Hostage, Alternate Paganism, and an under-aged/adult relationship (shota/chan).

**Disclaimer****:** The characters portrayed are the estate of Roald Dahl, Tim Burton, Freddie Highmore, Deep Roy, and Johnny Depp. All of Whom would surely lock me in SuperJail!

**Tip****:** As a tip, making your window smaller, like a book, can help with reading longer texts.

**Beta Thanks****:** marama_tsg, pet_pet_angel, st_minority.

**Summary****:**

A sailing we shall go!

Keep mum in the name of Mum.

Your brother may be your foe!

Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of butter rum!

Over the sea and across the years,

Through stormy agony, beyond deepest fears,

Fifteen men on a dead man's chest,

Drink and the devil had done for the rest.

Better a yum-yum in the tum-tum,

Than from love's touch to grow numb-numb!

xxxxxxx

xxxxxxx

**"Be careful what you wish for, you just might get it."**

Mr. Wonka, his heir, and the invaders had left behind the jalopy in the Children Only Room, boarding upon a new mechanical marvel – A mini-blimp! Though not just any design of blimp, as the great chocolatier wouldn't have "just any" of anything, uniqueness being a main aspect within his business…and life. This flying vehicle had been dubbed a "Wonkkalin", an improvement upon the German Zeppelins of World War II, powered by a giant plasma ball. Fascinating ripples of electric current danced distractingly above their heads, visible through a thick glass shield. Brushed black metal covered all other surfaces; nothing was reflective, causing forms to be swallowed in shadows beneath the extraterrestrial orb. No Oompa-Loompas were needed to pilot this high-tech vehicle and of course none could be permitted into the area where everyone was headed, to a place filled with Loompaland's most dreaded creatures and worse: The Secret Ingredients Room.

L.E.D. lights flickered about on perfectly flat computer screens, indicating their status and course. Mr. Prodnose had been completely mesmerized since he'd stepped aboard. Currently the old train conductor was playing with the orb above, wordlessly tracing the glass as threads of lightning traced the gestures of his eight intact fingertips.

In fact, everyone had been rather silent after the turbulent departure. A lack of singing or dancing by pygmy workers added a deafening layer to the absence of sound.

Willy Wonka stood near the bow, stoically taking in the view of veins and sinews connecting his fantastic rooms; endless suspended structures of tubes and wires, and shapes long forgotten of the usual square. Some resembled insect hives, the native constructions of Loompaland, but many were so strangely shaped that their purpose was anyone's guess. Oddities and complexities barely connected by a web of threads and notions -- exactly like their creator. Icicles dangled, sparkling like diamonds from a nearby frozen novelty section. Everything though, was a _novelty_ to behold, each creation a priceless gem, an untold expense of time and energy. And the entire collection had been put on the table in exchange for one "ordinary" little boy. In theory, this could be the last time the candyman ever saw any of it. A piercing squelching sound of a full set of latex coated fingers, curling tightly from behind tense shoulder blades, drew notice.

Most quiet and still had been humble Charlie Bucket, his adolescent brain processing the weight of information given today, death most prevalent on his mind. He hadn't been able to engage his beloved friend or mentor, both because of the edict of their captors and because Mr. Wonka had been avoiding it. Eyes drifted to the noisy gloves then focused on the youngest of the three candymakers; a healthy individual full of vim, who had managed to make last minute unwanted advances toward his mother before they'd departed.

He finally spoke, voice deliberate but non-threatening, "Mr. Fickelgruber, why are _you_ here instead of your father?"

The candyman hesitated a second, his arrogant capped-tooth grin sliding away. He faced the boy and bluntly stated, "Because he's dead. Lit a cigarette and blew up while trying to recreate the base ingredients for Never-Melting Ice Cream."

There was a titter.

Everyone looked.

"New shoes. They squeak."

Wonka made a humorous twist of expression at his patent leather boots, working an ankle back and forth in a tap dance motion.

The shoes did not squeak.

To Fickelgruber's continued and disbelieving glare he elaborated, "Uhhm…Paimpont forest tree sap is the ONLY source for proper sweetness and texture in that particular recipe. Processed correctly, through reverse-chemicalization of course, it becomes self-cooling -- Won't melt in the sun, see? But still dissolves in natural bio-acids. Not a task for an _amateur_ though. Yeah. Because the sap's natural state is _highly_ combustible."

Wonka shrugged and continued, "Besides, I told the guy like a million times to give up that nasty habit. Blech! Smoking dulls the palette and he really didn't have any taste buds tah spare."

"Oh yeah?!" Blustered Fickelgruber Jr., not really understanding what had been said, though nevertheless wanting to return the insult. "Well uh, at least my pappy didn't loose his _virginity_ to old man Prodnose!"

Wonka was taken aback, "I beg your pardon!! The only thing that got soiled that day were his _overalls_!"

"Paimpont forest trees…" Repeated M, deep in thought, unfazed by the rest of the conversation.

"But-but I was your first kiss, wasn't I?" Prodnose insisted hopefully, stumbling back over to the group.

Eyes gone vacant, Willy looked past him. He was trying to remember. The factory and his work, a veritable Babylon of information, had consumed every fiber of consciousness for fifteen years -- these constant stirrings of retrieving unwanted memories from the back of his mind were most taxing. Turning back toward Young Mister Fickelgruber with an upturned pitch, he stated slowly, "No. Actually…it was yo' mama."

The other candyman flushed crimson, pushing his sleeves up to their plaid armbands. "That's it!! You take that back! You're just sayin' stuff to make me mad!"

M stepped in between the lurching, accusing young man and the serenely calm Wonka. Who was guarding whom from what had suddenly flip-flopped. A foxy glint appeared in purple eyes transformed electric as the plasma ball hovering above. He peeked over sideways, "Oh goodie. Is it _MY_ turn to tell a story?"

There was no pause for permission.

"It begins when the Fickelgrubers hired an assistant - a little boy." His face was wild with the memory growing more and more tangible. One thick eyebrow cocked up, as he stepped back into reality and re-locked a gaze upon his target. "Bet ya don't know about that either."

"Sure I do!" Fickelgruber said defensively, "Some pale, brown-haired twerp with a Hasidic sounding first name. Uh…Yahn-kah…Ynka Willow. Yup, that was it. Had a face like a bear trap."

Charlie's eyes widened. It couldn't be.

Wonka's features squirmed at the description; unfortunately Fickelgruber's words weren't an exaggeration that he could argue with.

Slugworth moved a nob on his wheelchair and swiveled to face Mr. Prodnose. "An…***wheeze* **anagram."

"A what-a-gram?" said the fair-haired candymaker.

The original plotting candymen had come to understand such tricks, consumed as they'd been with figuring out the various codes from the candy whiz's stolen recipes. Mr. Prodnose reached up and began spelling letters against the glass. The characters stayed formed in light and with a gesture drifted into a more familiar order:

**Y**-**N**-**K**-**A** **W**-**I**-**L**-**L**-**O**-**W**

**W**-**I**-**L**-**L**-**Y** **W**-**O**-**N**-**K**-**A**

Everyone stared at he who formally owned the proper title -- an enormous smile now stuck into place, each tooth pressed flatly against the next without slightest gap, on a face darkly lit. Along with the name, it dawned on the invaders that such freakish perfection was no coincidence either; rather it had been the end result of great pain and rigid torment.

"BOO!"

They all flinched despite themselves.

Willy laughed with maniacal glee.

"Hey! You told my Dad that you didn't know him!" Fickelgruber shouted (clutching Prodnose).

"Charlatan!" Slugworth heaved. "Can't believe…a word ***gasp*** he says!"

Demurely lowering lids, masking the punch up his velvet sleeve, Wonka's brows flicked as sharp eyes stared back at them again. Lips of red traced white, ready to take a bite. "Heh. You boys should listen more carefully. Wut I said wuz, I had American tutors. Perfectly true. And actually Mr. Fickelgruber should be thanking me for the secrets that _I've_ been keeping!"

"But!" He took a confident, clicking step forward and past the bodygaurd, "If it's 'truth' that ya want, then it's _truth_ you'll get."

The craft hovered past a series of dangling ducts resembling a giant wind-chime, the blimp's electromagnetic field disrupted them, triggering a melancholy glockenspiel pulling its audience into another shattered fragment in the mysterious life of the world's greatest chocolatier.

_**PONNNG, PINGGG, PLOooNK, PLiNG…**_

_**Tonng, Tingg, TloOonk, TliNg…**_

_**clong, cling, clonk, clinggggg…**_

And so there he had sat, that disobedient little boy abandoned by his father, hugging himself through the long and cold night; the darkest one he'd ever remember.

Cement created Willy's new bed, a brick wall his pillow, and exhaustion threatened to overtake his form though he dare not leave for that pesky residue of hope. But neither the towering man nor his towering home returned. Dawn however, did.

Defeated, weary, the boy sluggishly stretched from a most uncomfortable slumber; mother's ring clasped within his bare palm became exposed to morning's light. A ruby heart held between two, gloved silver hands began to glow. Willy was captivated and dared to place it on, squeezing the jewelry in place to compensate for his young digits. Perhaps it was the breaking of the sun's equally shining rays because suddenly the world looked reborn! There was lush grass saturated neon, sky of dazzling aqua and hibiscus hues, brushed with clouds as fluffy as cotton candy he'd been kept from tasting. Sparkling lights flittering to and fro like living fireworks along the fantastic scene. Never in his dull life had he been bared to such beauty and color!

The boy stood to walk into this storybook picture, however when he turned around, to hoist up his knapsack, an entirely opposite scenario was revealed; an engulfing mass of pit black darkness loomed between the two buildings – looking like a supernatural version of yesterday's tempest! Energy crackled around the edges in ultraviolet and magenta, as if threatening to pull in everything near. That sight caused the boy to scream, jerking the ring from his finger! Immediately the vision evaporated back into broken molding and his over-stuffed cloth bag. Hand shaking, Willy snatched it up as quickly as possible, tripping over his own feet while backing away. He wondered exactly what sort of a man was his father?!

"'Ere. Aren't you wee Willy Wonka?"

The voice startled him into a girlish shriek. Willy turned to face a boy about his age, but couldn't speak even if he'd have known what to say under the circumstances.

"That famous dentist's son, right? Brace-face and all that."

One panicked last glance at the lad's demanding, freckled face and Willy ran away like a shot. The boy yelled after him, waving a clutched hand, "Ay! Get back 'ere! How in the heck am I supposedta' deliver a newspaper when there isn't even a bloomin' house to deliver it _to?!"_

The child didn't have the answer to that or a million other questions! Thus he ran and kept on running until his skinny legs were killing him, until he'd reached the edge of town where no one knew the geeky, quirky, ugly, uptight little boy named Willy Wonka. In fact, he'd unintentionally found himself back at a candy shop discovered while skipping school one day; where in one window, a show of preparing confections like pulling taffy or dipping candied apples was made, and in the other, were stacked cake plates full of elegantly packaged confections -- exciting, forbidden and blissful all at once -- not a bad place to be at all, certainly much nicer than a black hole! He felt the sanctuary of his favorite sin re-bloom; sinister power of rebellion and floating flying freedom laced with a satiny console of pleasure, these gloriously addictive sensations were the reason for his unreasonable punishment, the cross upon which he'd been hung. So be it. Brows furrowed, dark eyes determined, the child took a deep breath and pushed open the door.

The impressionable, vulnerable youth ended up spending his entire day inside the The Brothers Fickelgruber candy shop, run by a gregarious duo from America. Their foreign notoriety in England at that time, despite mediocre creations, won them an advantage over other candymakers. Willy found their accents jaunty and refreshingly nothing like his you-know-what. The Fickelgruber brothers looked and sounded identical to one another. Both were tall, attractive, hazel-eyed, and blonde haired with darker brows. In addition they wore matching outfits right down to their bowties. Children particularly liked how the pair staged performances to amuse: acting out skits (sometimes with puppets), spouting off jokes and even juggling! The boy had little sense of showmanship at the time; his father was not a man to put on airs, except to sardonically smile while lecturing on the superiority of his own vast knowledge. Differences in this first day of Willy's new life were unfamiliar, distracting, and therefore more than welcome.

Eventually night's dark curtain fell again; stars danced in the sky through the same windows that Willy had stared into that same morning, glittering lights reflected back in the matching tint of his eyes. He focused on the brightest one and made a wish. One of the men came up from behind, yawning. "C'mon buddy, shop's closed. You don't have to go home, but ya can't stay here."

"Um, I...I don't have a home. I'm an orphan." Innocent voice tinged with desperation.

"Orphan?!" The other Fickelgruber locked the front door, bells jingling. He glanced about then pulled down their decorative curtains with a whoosh. "Ain't you got no family at all?"

"What about a friend?"

"Or neighbor?"

He shook his head and turned to face them. "No sirs. You see, I…I…" Mechinisms about his face clattered as he recounted misfortunes aloud (a version anyway). "I _lost_ my father yesterday a-a-and he was my only family. We didn't really have er, _friends_. I've wondered far from where we lived, there's nothing left for me there anyhow...but oh, how I DO enjoy candy!"

"He, he, he, he, he!" Squealish laughter echoed inside the empty shop. "I'd trade my very soul for it! I…I don't suppose you'd have a little work for…someone like me?"

They were startled by the appearance, story, and suddenness of this situation. Both rubbed their chins and considered. The brothers were opportunistic and this here, smelled like a juicy deal, ripe for the picking.

"Such an eager assistant…"

"Is hard to come by these days!"

"Candy-making may look fun but…"

"It's hard work, kiddo."

"Serious business!"

"Ya bet yer buttons there!"

Listening to them, keeping up as they finished each other's sentences, was rather similar to watching a Wimbledon tennis match! Left, right, left, right -- he forgot to stop moving when they stopped speaking. Shaking his frazzled young head clear, he exclaimed, "I promise I'll be the best assistant you ever had!"

"You're hired!" The slim, twin men looked at each other with similar awkward expressions. "Only…"

"Would ya mind if we kept you in the back…"

"During store hours?"

"See er, the uh…apparatus on yer head there…"

"It ain't uh, savory to candy sales."

"Yeah. Nothin' personal, short stuff."

"Er, ah, duz it come off?"

"It doesn't." Not unless he wanted to become one of those nightmarish photos he'd been shown in medical textbooks; that would be uglier still. The dark-haired boy's beaming, metallically stretched smile fell briefly in thought. Maybe they were right. Candy was the most wonderful, lovely thing ever and he certainly…was not. Even Willy didn't like looking in a mirror at himself. Besides, why did he need to be seen anyway? In fact, all the better for hiding! With that thought, the boy shrugged his small shoulders and looked up at these fantastic new people to him, "No, I don't mind. I don't mind at all!"

"Te-rrific!"

"Golly, the day's over…"

"I guess ya could get help us close shop."

"Hang yer bag on a hook and grab an apron!"

There were even more chores to do then when he lived with his Dad! Willy swept floorboards, polished countertops, wiped windows, dusted shelves, threw out trash, organized stock and a zillion other errands. But it felt a lot more fun to do them in a real life chocolate store! Thinking about it as he toiled away, the youngster realized that his stubborn father leaving was the best thing that ever happened to him! He began to hum. The brothers were puzzled by the boy's lack of sorrow regarding the loss of his paternal role model and only family, but they didn't want to pry or loose the good fortune of a hard-working assistant! True to the tale, never a friend nor relative showed up looking for this strange, lone child. Then again, if they or the authorities had, blame could safely be kept to a minimum.

As agreed, the child stayed in the back of the chocolate shop along with the machinery and parcels, living in the basement. There did the petit Willy Wonka crafted an equally petit existence for himself, without the slightest bit of help from his...his…oh, who cared about that stuffy old man?! Willy started to daydream as he often did. Why'd he have to have a p-p-parent anyway? He didn't even like the word anymore – unpleasant, spitting sort of a sound it had. Maybe he hatched from an egg or grew from the ground instead.

Wonka was still a part of the world, but also _apart_ from it. Despite his fear of more shiver inducing visions, the lonely child couldn't help putting on the golden Claddagh ring at night. Wearing the object also gave him a sense of peace and warmth; he liked to pretend that some part of his mother was still in it, that someone watched over him in that damp basement. It seemed to him that every room in a candy-making place should be as beautiful; that even a lowly rodent, like the mice he shared space with, deserved better. Maybe one day he could ensure that was so, no matter how plain the purpose, _his_ chocolate shop would be delectable from its grand entrance to the mysterious underground! Wilder and wilder dreams would cross his mind, soothe a dim reality until it practically grew forth from the very walls, until he swore he could see the impossible right before his eyes. Like the vision, a forest filled with color, maybe candy _grew_ in it. He spoke aloud in freshly learned slang, "Yeeaah…"

To the land of sugar plums and fairy cakes, the abandoned child did drift.

Occasionally in waking life, Willy would peer through the tinted windows on the swinging doors that blocked off The Brother's Ficklegruber's kitchen & preparation area. Getting along with fellow children had never been easy, current circumstances would do nothing to improve this. The boy assistant would oft get jealous of freedoms he saw others taking for granted, mollifying himself by counting their blatant flaws: insolence, greed, rudeness, ignorance, extravagance, and many others. Why did he need to know such people? Better to be alone. Solitude made it easier to come up with ideas, formulas -- fresh thoughts acquired from training -- he was having them every day! The newest one was "Vitamin Candy". Willy had worried that he'd get sick eating nothing but candy (although he didn't tire of it). True there was _milk_ in milk chocolate, _protein_ in peanut brittle, and _fruit_ in candied oranges or apples, but that wasn't enough if he wanted to grow into the king of a confectionary kingdom.

Nobody could tell the twins apart except young Willy Wonka (known by his inventive anagram, Ynka Willow), who'd never tell anyone that it was because he'd noticed a tiny spot behind the ear of the eldest. "Eldest" by 15 minutes that was. The brothers had been taking advantage of their deal. Because if he complained, they really could turn him in to one of those glorified torture camps called orphanages!

With an assistant to do their work, the owners had grown lazier and were happy to find new ways to entertain their time -- like girls, one in particular. Fifi was a prim maid who wore her hair in neat ringlets and both brothers were fond of the pretty girl. Their assistant had a reputation for being somewhat accident-prone, but whenever this particular woman showed up, it was the twins who became complete klutzes! Although slightly older, the candy apprentice couldn't imagine what all the fuss was about. Nor did he have much time to figure it out, as his duties had increased further while the two entertained.

They'd invite the young woman to the warmth and privacy of their kitchen table for American coffee or flavored hot chocolate. Willy would study her keenly from the shadows, women being rather alien to the child. The only one he'd really known existed in the form of inanimate objects or plump, maternal teachers and neighbors; they were not like oil paintings of nymphs come to life. He watched how elegantly Fifi crossed her heeled legs, fluttered lush lashes, and demurely held a drinking cup; not to mention the way both men melted over her high-pitched laughter. It was like she possessed a sort of _power_ over them. The brothers were as carefully twirled around this structured glamour as the pin curls in her hairdo.

One day, Willy snuck into the closet to touch her fancy coat, hat and gloves; clothes made of velvets, satins, and lace; fetching and fine, the like of which he never knew existed. How could he? There had never been any female presence in his life and his father believed strictly in wool or starched cotton. He lifted a sleeve trimmed in fur to his face, sweeping it carefully across one cheek – soft as a breath of air. The garments smelled good too. Unfortunately Fifi returned unexpectedly and caught him indulging these whims, causing great shrieks! Fortunately his employer's only had flippant responses to the gentlewoman's sneer. It was apparent she had no intention of serving as any motherly substitute.

"Boys will be boys."

"See, even the kid ain't immune to yer charms."

Their French debutant claimed to forgive his minor offense, but the youth heard her ironically whisper, "Zere's zomething strange about Ynka. He gives me zee willies."

A glint bounced off the metal around his head as the gentlewoman shivered under the arm of one twin, the other giving a jealous gaze. The boy stayed in the shadows, only watching from a great distance after that. Again, in private Willy mimicked this person, wondering if he could affect such "power". There certainly wasn't any parent to discourage someone starving for a sense of self from doing otherwise or to suggest it was improper or unsuitable to one's physical gender. Like a sponge this chocolatier-in-training was absorbing everything, these recent experiences leaving strong impressions, but he _never_ blamed the candy. For candy, with its endless varieties and malleable forms was the stuff of pure imagination itself – a veritable playground to focus all his dreams into, while forgetting his woes.

One Wednesday night Willy's candy filled dreams were disrupted by a clamor from within the shop. He thought it might have been a burglar as he dashed to investigate, but instead saw the two brothers engaged in a full match of fisticuffs! One knocked the other into a wall. Pots and pans came crashing down, blades sunk into the floor.

_twack!_

_**Ka-Clang!**_

"The girl is mine!"

"No, she's mine!"

_thunk!_

_**Ba-Blang!**_

"I can't believe you've been passing yerself off as me!" Shouted the younger.

"So WUT? You had her Fridays!" Snapped back the elder. "She has more fun by my side anyways!"

"Sez who?"

"Says my hickeys!"

He exposed the evidence causing his brother to dive and wrap hands around the offending neck adorned with Fifi's nipped kisses. The other returned the grip and they smashed into more objects trying to choke one another, twirling in a death dance of asphyxiation and hatred.

"STOP!"

Willy shouted. Suddenly. Surprising himself. They paused and looked toward him, hands still wrapped around one another.

Feeling bold, he added with a cracking voice, "This is stupid!! You can't fight fate! She'll end up with the one she's supposed to be with!"

Their gaze had gotten harsher; figure of a child slipping from youth into the cusps of manhood -- unaware though he was of it himself -- fluffy mouse perched at his shoulder and still dressed in the short pants of a boy, hem reaching mid-thigh rather than knees gaining muscle, sleeves exposing too much wrist on growing arms. At the end of them, one hand wore a white cotton glove. It had belonged to the woman; she'd thrown it away after its "twin" had been lost. The item kept his hand both warm and sanitary. It also protected the claddagh ring.

This however, was not what the raging men perceived. Oh, they'd stopped fighting but only to draw up kitchen implements and begin walking toward their assistant. A new target had volunteered for their raw emotions. Like the wild animal he'd been forced to live as, the youth sensed the danger. Willy bolted back for the basement with the Fickelgruber twins following right on his heels!

Where had those words come from?! Thought Wonka as he ran down cement stairs, toes jutting out of old, split shoes appearing to gasp like his chest.

Down in their storage area the men saw something that once again brought them to a halt. There appeared a laboratory: collections of discarded cookware, tubes and tires, asphalt and wires -- things that didn't look as if in baking they should aspire. In addition a mural had been painted over their formerly dull walls, blindingly colorful and wild in imagery did it mock anything they could have dreamed even with aid of illegal narcotics. A scene made with nothing more than left over spray paint cans from street punks and chalk from scribbling children on the pavement, remnants neatly stored in cardboard boxes with the brother's logo. But what looked the most out of place were the dozens of tiny rodents about, employed in great efforts of work.

"What in Hell?!", Echoed an appalled unison.

Ynka stood in front of everything, arms held up in surrender.

Mice busily picked out almonds, affixing a single perfectly toasted and glazed nut to each rectangular piece of dark-chocolate covered sweet, passing them down a line with tiny pink paws. More sat on eggbeaters, converted into small bicycles that they rode around within bowls of whipped meringue. Another lot was carefully making swirls onto the tops of truffles with their tail tips. While a few others appeared to be enjoying a break within a dollhouse, sipping refreshments from thimbles or nibbling on things like stale peanut brittle and broken biscuits. There was even a miniature outhouse!

"I trained them." The boy boasted, modestly adding, "Well, they liked the squeaks of my braces."

"Ya can't have filthy animals touching food for _people!"_

"I make them take baths!" Retorted the boy, annoyed. Of course he knew all about bacteria and germs from reading and upbringing. "Besides, their help is the only way I can get everything done!!"

"Wut's this?" On a separate desk were blocks of gooey, brown bars. Touching one made it grow pale and blurry. The Fickelgrubers jerked away in fear.

"Invisible Fudge." Ynka explained, "So you can eat candy without anyone knowing. It's a work in progress. I'm more excited by the Marshmallow Kittens, but the mice keep refusing to help me even though I've explained repeatedly that the mewling is only a special effect. Tsk."

Elements from Willy's father's cabinets and tomes lay near the makeshift chemistry lab; images and words that the two shop owners could make no sense of. Clearly they were scrawlings of an over active imagination.

"You're as transparent as that freaky fudge, kiddo."

"Think you're better than us, don'tcha?"

"But this crap ain't more than nonsense and fantasy."

"You can't run no _real_ business this way."

"Ain't no beddie-bye story, little boy."

"Time for some exterminating."

The men rose up steel kitchen implements still clutched in their hands and began wrecking more havok. Mice scurried in a blur straight toward the safety of their carefully nibbled out holes.

"We gave you a home and skills!"

"Is this how you repay us?!"

"By trying to _replace_ us?!"

"Vermin! Infestation! Pest!"

Precariously stacked shelves fell. Re-used condiment jars shattered. Substances with no business near one another mixed, exploding into smoke and fire. A toxic smell began filling the closed in space.

***cough* *cough* *cough* *gasp!* **

***cough* *wheeze!* *cough* *cough***

"WATER!" Shouted one, fancy cuffed sleeve pressed to his nose.

The other began banging furiously at valves on pipes until one finally sprung off causing a gushing cascade. This did not successfully cease the fire however. Instead an oil burned in vivid shades atop the flood, fumes growing quickly thicker. Pressures changing within the boiler started to growl, threatening to burst and destroy the entire structure! Willy furiously searched for the missing valve but was having no luck. For whatever reason though, he was immune to the foul soot.

Suddenly an idea struck!

Men hopelessly choking and gagging, wadding through the water rising flood, the youth dared to stand nearly in front of the bulging web of metal. On instinct, he did something that he'd never thought he'd be capable of. Reaching to the back of his head, he began twisting at the gear that had come to feel like it grew from his very skull.

He shouted, "RUN!! Get out of here!!"

Having never been particularly heroic or self-sacrificing, neither grown man objected. The brother with slightly more might remaining grabbed his gasping twin to drag up the flooding stairwell. Behind them a threatening groan, louder than ever, came from the swelling tank. Nevertheless, Willy sooner took his chances with a helplessly collapsing heater than two functionally raving lunatics!

_**WHWOOWOROWHEEAARrrrrggGGGGH!**_

Above: One Fickelgruber collapsed across the table he was draped upon. The other gazing down, water dripping off his body onto its mirror image, fluid sparkling in shards of moonlight creeping in through slivers of curtain that failed to meet in the middle. Empty eyes slid to the source of continued noises where peculiar Ynka Willow remained distracted and at a distance. An opportunity was once again presenting itself…

Below: Countless odometers and meters had gone haywire, ceasing to mean anything but impeding doom. The whistling of escaping steam, a deep rumbling in earth, and clattering of metal on the brink of explosion, caused a peculiar cacophony of sounds bordering on music. In a swift motion, before he could give himself a chance to reconsider, the petit chocolatier had plucked the gear off his crown of orthodontics and shoved it into the empty orifice of the mechanical beast. As usual, Willy Wonka was at the center of inexplicable chaos. Bad as it was, this place was all that the boy had. Subsequently he desperately tried to save a home and sacred palace to sugar's delights -- not to mention his own hide! Twisting, turning, and twisting, for everything his twisted, turning and miserable life was worth because if it fell apart he'd be the very first thing annihilated in a holy torrent! Miraculously the gear fit, plus being made of the stern stuff of his father's mind, it did not yield under such immense pressures as might pulverize another. Metallic caterwauling eased back into hums of peaceful operation; from a distance the gears appeared to be robotic eyes and mouths, bearing smiles toward the brave volunteer as all systems returned to normal. Water expediently slurred down the drain in mimic of a great wave of relief; sensation shared by ever sentient and non-sentient being in the room.

Upstairs again, not only was Willy excited that he'd solved the problem but also that he'd managed to gather the majority of his belongings back. He hoped that the unintended bath caused the men to cool off, although it might also be time to run away again. Either way, knapsack clutched, he was prepared. Immediately one of them came into focus. Cautiously he approached the man hunched over the kitchen table. "Muh…Mister Fickelgruber?"

Zeroing in on the telltale freckle behind an ear, their over-worked assistant recognized him to be the elder. A cautious shake of shoulder caused the man to slump off the chair, facing upward. Eyes were rolled back to their whites and mouth gaped into a soundless scream.

"AH!" Willy backed away and thudded into another body, this one standing. Turning slowly he saw the eerily calm face of the second brother. A shiver from forces beyond temperature tingled him; had he been a cat, his fur would've been standing on end.

Mr. Fickelgruber, the younger, stared down at the wet and shivering man-child. "My brother always thought he was better 'n me! Imagine staring at your own reflection mocking you every second of every day! I've _never_ had one dadgum chance to be UNIQUE!! Every blasted thing I owned or liked had tah be shared! Not anymore."

Willy swallowed loudly. Backed into a wall, he whispered. "I…I won't tell."

"Damn right, ya won't."

The surviving Fickelgruber brother slammed the boy's head against a wall before another thought could be formed. What had been left of the brace construct fell free and scattered in a noise akin to that of shattered dreams. Struggling still, a second slam led to the room spinning with the youth sliding to the ground, then swiftly a weight was pressed stiffly onto his exposed face -- Willy was being smothered by his own knapsack! Scents of his father's home still lingered, as did those of confections. They were becoming the last things he'd ever think about, except for the ghostly image of a woman in a long white gown…an angel? A goddess?

Delicate, insistent raps were heard upon the candyshop's front door. They matched in rhythm to the ticking of a coo-coo clock, marking the usual hour of his twin's secret rendezvous. Shadow of a fancy hat resting atop an hourglass body, left no doubt to the visitor's feminine identity.

The living brother stopped. Lifting the knapsack, their assistant lay motionless and the hue of snow. Adjusting his face, manipulating a natural flair for dramatics, he flung open the door in sorrow with a tale of woe due to a most terrible accident in their cellar. Alas, for his plans, his sweetheart had received nurse training. With hesitation she dutifully checked both victims and began giving the youth known as Ynka Willow, mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. In between the efforts, a polite command to boil a kettle for tea and hot towels, forced Mr. Fickelgruber to reluctantly leave the room. He did so only reasoning that too much time had passed for any normal person to remain Earthly.

Less than a moment passed. Wide eyes flickered open to meet her own, a connection of lips lingered in wonder. Then a raspy cough. Gently she pulled away, stroking his damp hair as, "Not a bad looking lad under those braces are you? I hadn't noticed how _spectacular_ your eyes are."

The youth withdrew spasming from her touch, shuddering in a corner. "Y-you shouldn't d-do that."

Fifi frowned, French accent as prominent as her perfume. "_Hmpf._ Zat's fine gratitude for saving l'enfant."

Wringing his hands together, he realized another potential offense. "Th-this be-belongs to you, ma'am."

"Tut, tut. Call me Fifi." Tone endearing. Her eyes fixated on what was underneath the removed glove instead. Warm hands touching those resembling ice. She smiled, "Oh look, you have two hearts."

"Like you." He whispered, distant and confused. "I felt the pulses."

She gasped. Possibly it had been her suspicion of this information leading to more _metaphorical_ heart than usual. Or possibly it was the mannish change in the youth's appearance.

He became intense, "What day did you perform the act that creates life?"

A furious blush rose to the woman's cheeks.

Wonka insisted, voice serious and oblivious to insult, "Was it too often to remember?"

She slapped him, presuming judgment, "I gave in to temptation once, you unnatural and perverse child! Why should the _day_ matter?!"

"Be with him Friday and never tell him it was a Wednesday. Never." The woman had saved his life, thus did he return the favor. By the dubiously startled look on her face, the true day was obvious. What was not however, was what "the act" exactly meant -- a phrase which had served as the briefest explanation as to how his arrival on the planet did occur, accompanied only by the warning that touching should always be sacred or the consequences could be dangerous. That much had become obvious.

He stood and picked up the knapsack, adding in an authoritative voice, "You shouldn't have led them both on."

"'Twas only harmless fun." She protested, forcing giggles.

A man; brother and twin, candymaker and teacher, body laying dead on the tile floor. His own nearly added alongside it. He made up his mind to never give up his dreams and to never be the property of a sole employer again; this experience had begun…a transformation. Dark irises, new spikes of contrasting lavender stabbing inward, stared the woman down.

"'Twas anything but."

xxxxxxx

xxxxxxx

xxxxxxx

Tension on the blimp had made the air quiet enough to hear the valuable beating inside one's own chest…if indeed it was there to be heard -- each life drifting within the clutter of dim uncertainty like the craft itself. Wonka had paused, eyes in another dimension where he watched his own life like an episode in a television show. He'd expressed _most_ of what he'd seen. Posture currently bent in a sort of half bow, no one was sure if he was done until he tittered with a turn of expression, "He, he, he. Best I could do without cue cards."

Attempting to be nonplussed, Mr. Fickelgruber piped up with, "Oh yeah? Well ya left out the part where you STOLE their money!"

"Uh, I _propagated_ a certain amount of owed _back pay_ from the safe that got damaged in the disaster, which my braces and brains solved!" Asserted the chocolatier, followed by a squirm of his hips, "Kept me busy riding the rails of Europe for _advanced_ candy training. No point gettin' in the way of more _hump days_ now, was there?"

Nobody was paying attention to the warning signs of danger that the ship flew past, although intense exotic scents had begun to waft on currents made of air.

_Psssst! ….hssst…._

_Psssst! ….hssst…._

Mr. Slugworth was mulling over everything, "You'd said…_Francis_ had a son when we met."

The youngest man laughed arrogantly, "See you don't know wut yer talkin' about, old coot! My Dad was _Fitzroy_."

Wonka sighed as if the candyman's stupidity were actually causing him physical pain. "Wut I'm sayin' is that you ain't half the man of half the man you thought you were. Yer just a bad copy of a bad copy, _kiddo_."

"I'm a junior named after my father!" Insisted the bleach blonde, confused by the sentence.

Charlie simplified the information, confirming it to himself at the same time, "Francis was your biological. Fitzroy raised you."

M surmised in a Loompish-like rhyme, "Francis lied and seduced your mother. Indiscretion got him murdered by his brother. Fifi never admitted paternity by another. Otherwise you too would've been smothered."

"Yeah! Ergo the only real junior here, is ME!" Wonka squinted at him with a click of teeth.

Fickelgruber looked at his cohorts, crestfallen, panicked, "Thi-this can't be true."

Mr. Prodnose took off his cap in a show of reverence, squishing it with nerves as he spoke, "Actually, you were part of a pair of twins too. But, er, Fitzroy 'tole us, your brother, er, uh, that is…"

"He died ***gasp*** at birth." Slugworth finished grimly.

This was the part of the story that the candymaking cads had known, what Wonka had recounted was not. It was also known that the man who raised Fickelgruber "Junior" could not stand twins. Fitzroy had even been known to refuse them service within his store. Some blamed grief, but there was a sense of unbefitting bitterness that hadn't fit the tale. Another truth was that his bride Fifi was petrified of ever becoming pregnant again, choosing to raise their son without a sibling; no doubt spoiling him in exclusive attention along with that decision. People assumed it was to do with vanity, since she frequently complained about how her large conception had altered a previously flawless form (though others might have sited her frequent appreciation of confections). Whatever the woman may have feared about her husband, she'd never allowed her mind to admit it. Then again, without her husband's money she would have been in poor monetary and moral circumstances indeed; beer barrel pockets and champagne taste, Fifi had made up her mind to marry ONE of the well-to-do Americans at first sight.

And now a plausible reason for everything, from a most implausible and unreasonable man, had been presented many lost decades later. The invaders looked at one another in amazement.

Prodnose interjected, "Never did get rid of that buggering mouse infestation."

"Whose the liar now?" Quipped Willy.

Peculiar buzzing sounds passed the ship, like wings made out of metal. A sudden rough bump threw everyone off balance, some to their knees, M gripped Slugworth's wheelchair. Charlie had been pleasantly shoved up against his mentor. In a hushed tone he sweetly dared, "I wish I'd been your first kiss."

The man leaned low as to grip the boy's shoulder under his chin, since hands were an impossibility. No skin touched, but in that deeper and secret tone he responded, "But yours was the one that _truly_ resurrected me."

Raw cocoa beans combined with molten river, fruity lollypops, toasted nuts and wild dreams -- his _scent_, wrapping the boy as snuggly as a sweater. He nuzzled back and took deep breaths, oblivious to the turmoil or perhaps…immune. Thinking of everything learned, how it added up to ripping up a solitary person's soul, though it remained buried like a black pearl. Shadows pressed in from every direction, but he fixated on that mysterious luster. Hushed British accent to his mentor's masculine purr, he expressed, "I'm sorry for all the pain."

No one had ever expressed sympathy for him. It was another one of those freeze-frame moments Willy Wonka was utterly unprepared for, removing built-up guarded layers to reveal an aging wizard powerless in front of a simple child. How could Charlie be concerned for _him_ at a time like this? Another rough bump separated them again, placing each back into captor's grips. However their faces were as resolute as the rings round their restrained hands (and even more restrained affection) — they remained joined in imperceptible ways.

The Wonkkalin had found itself forked in the grip of sturdy branches belonging to an immense tree house. Damage to the hull suggested the work of predatory insects. Clamoring horns and flashing lights firmly suggested a less than ideal landing. Sparks and smoke _insisted_ that everyone should disembark most expediently! A voice similar to a hyperactive school kid made an announcement.

"AHOY!! Welcome to the Secret Ingredients Room!"

Yes, in his usual style of pandemonium, the famous chocolatier had arrived. Watch your step.

**Author's Notes****:**

**QUESTION: "Where do I get my ideas from?"**

**ANSWER: From everywhere and nowhere, some come to me out of the clear blue and others grow while trying to communicate notions by word or otherwise. I do not fully understand the way my mind works or links things as remote as sound or texture to notions of ancient religion or childhood memories and so forth, but it seems ideally suited to the conceptions of fiction. **

**But some of my very BEST ideas come from readers who review – honest! Even when you guess or question the tale, it often provokes the most interesting responses from the characters or research that I'll embark upon. **

**_____________**

**_____________**

_**Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of butter rum!**_** - parts of the summary are based off a famous pirate song. **

**I always thought plasma balls were neat, I'm somewhat of a Trekkie, and who doesn't love German engineering? So why not a ship combining such things?**

**My description of the behind the scenes view comes from the barest glimpses in Burton's film. By now I expect you've caught on to the factory being rather like a living organism. Here there was a strong sense of anxiety, firing neurons, and nerves.**

**Paimpont forest; look that up, interesting stuff.**

**The sounds and feeling I'm imagining for the glockenspiel come from the melody "2815" by Thomas Newman, from Pixar's ****Wall-E****. **

"**Ynka" [yahn-kah] is a made-up name with no true origin that I'm aware of. **

**I've partly based the Fickelgruber twins personalities on the shop owner from the first film with Gene Wilder, the one that sings "Candyman".**

_**He focused on the brightest one and made a wish.**_** - this is actually usually the planet Venus.**

**You'll notice that bells reoccur as a sound. This is because they play an important role in paganism and magick rituals. As well there is a macabre poem by Edgar Allen Poe called "The Bells", of which I'm fond.**

_**Wonka was still a part of the world, but also apart from it.**_** - I really felt this line said a lot about the character on a grand scale.**

**I wanted to explain Willy's androgynous nature further; males and females, particularly in pop culture (for profit), exploit glamour. Children also have a general habit of trying on their parent's clothes. **

**Did I make a closet reference? **_**Did I?**_** Or did Burton beat me to it? Ha, ha!**

**MJ references: "The Girl Is Mine" is a famous song between him and Paul McCartney. And of course a single white glove became a trademark to the entertainer (referenced previously).**

**The mice****: This idea comes from many factors. 1) The idea of Wonka learning to train animals, such a link to nature has connotations of magic and Paganism. This would later lead to squirrels, cows, Oompa-loompas, etc. 2) "Ben" by Michael Jackson 3 3) I rather liked Pixar's Ratatouille 4) Disney's ****Cinderella****…or ****Willard**** if you prefer. Mwa-ha-ha! 5) "The Old Gumby Cat" song from the play ****Cats****; I was smitten with those poems as a kid.**

"**Invisible Fudge" and "Marshmallow Kittens" are actual inventions in the books and movies. **

_**But it remained buried in there like a sort of **__**black**____**pearl**__**.**_** -- this & The Wonkkalin are homages to Depp's portrayal of the pirate Jack Sparrow.**

****Thanks for reading, and commenting, and just being a fan. I couldn't ask for more.****


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